Addicted

by Zane

  The ironic part is, I had planned to tell Brina about everything that afternoon, asking her to help me overcome my man problems. I was going to tell her how I would leave my house pretending to go one place but end up someplace where I had no business, committing adultery I never planned on in my wildest dreams. Instead, I was waiting for the doctors to patch her ass up, administer painkillers, and ask her a bunch of questions we both knew she had no intention of answering truthfully, if at all.

  I decided there was no way Brina could help me when she couldn’t even help herself. So I decided against confiding in her. I would just pretend to be the happy, successful, content woman she wanted me to be. Ain’t that a bitch?

  “This wait is wayyyyyyy too long, Brina,” I complained, standing near the entryway of the Cheesecake Factory on Peachtree and trying to stay out of the way of people coming in and out.

  “Zoe, I just checked with the hostess a minute ago, and she said there are only two parties ahead of us. Calm down.” Brina was standing so close to me, I could feel her breath on my cheek. She had that hospital ethyl alcohol/bleach smell all over her. “We rarely get to hang out anymore, just me and you. You always have the kids with you, so let’s just have lunch and catch up.”

  “Catch up?” I couldn’t believe she was putting on a front like we hadn’t just left out of the emergency room. “The only thing we need to catch up on is why you’re still letting that Dempsey maggot open up a can of whup-ass on you whenever he feels like it.”

  She darted her eyes around, embarrassed, trying to make sure nobody heard my last statement. “Do you have to talk so loud?”

  I realized I was talking pretty loud, so I toned it down a peg or two. I was still pissed, though. “Brina, I have a great idea. Let’s just order carry-out and head back to your place so we can discuss this openly and honestly without any interruptions.”

  “We can discuss it here,” she interjected. “I don’t want to go back to my place right now. I’m sick of being cooped up in there every day after work. Why do you think I’m always so gung-ho about hanging out with you and the kids? My life is mad boring.”

  I was on the brink of insisting that we leave regardless of all that. I just didn’t deem it appropriate for us to be there in light of earlier events. Before I could air my objection, they called our name and led us to a table by a window overlooking the Saturday traffic on Peachtree. Once we sat down and ordered a couple of margaritas, I decided to get all up in her business.

  “Brina, why are you so bored? Doesn’t Dempsey ever take you out anyplace?”

  She looked astonished, as if the mere thought of a man taking a sistah out on an actual date is unheard of in Atlanta. “Take me out with what, Zoe? You know Dempsey has trouble holding down a job, and what little money he does make goes to child support.”

  “Yeah, child support or liquor,” I replied sarcastically. “Am I missing something here? Let me see if I have all of this straight. He’s a lazy alcoholic sperm bank who comes over to your place just so he can fuck you, beat the shit out of you, and then leave?”

  “You just don’t understand where I’m coming from,” she stated brazenly. “Dempsey has a softer side to him that only I see.”

  I chuckled, more out of anger than anything. I couldn’t believe my ears. “Brina, you deserve so much better than this, but you can’t see it for some reason. You and I go way back.” I reached over the table and gently took her by the hand. “We’re like family. You’re the closest thing to the sister I’ve never had, and I refuse to sit back and watch you do this to yourself one more minute.”

  “Do what to myself? Allow a man to love me?” Her bottom lip started trembling, and so did her hand. She tried to pull it back, but I tightened my grip. “Zoe, I’m not beautiful and successful like you. The world is at your feet. You have a bad-ass home, great kids, a mother who actually remembers you exist, and a fine husband who adores you.”

  I wanted to scream out that I was just as tormented as she was, but her problems were more urgent. In fact, they were bordering on life-threatening so I refrained from discussing my sexual obsession and the effect it was having on my life. I desperately needed to talk to someone. It looked like Dr. Marcella Spencer was my only choice, though; Brina was certainly in no condition to help me sort through my emotions.

  “I’m barely making enough to get by,” Brina continued. “My mother’s always asking me for money. When I’m with Dempsey, it’s the only time I truly feel safe.” No—she didn’t say safe? “It’s not like I have men knocking down my door these days. I used to, though. You remember that, don’t you, Sis? You remember when I was beautiful like you?”

  That did it! I squeezed her hand so hard that I practically drew blood. “You listen to me! You’re still beautiful! You always have been and always will be!” I calmed down a little and loosened my grip. I was so upset, I had to fight back the tears. Brina was always the confident one. People used to call her conceited in high school, but I would defend her and explain that she wasn’t conceited—she was just convinced she had it going on. “That Dempsey bastard has destroyed your self-esteem, and I’m not having it. I’ll do anything to help you, Brina. Anything! Jason and I both would do anything for you. Don’t you know that?”

  She looked me over with the tear-drenched eyes of a child. “I know you will.”

  “But I can’t help you unless you tell me what you need.” The waitress came back to the table and asked if we were ready to order our meals. I asked her to give us a few more moments. We had yet to even open up the menus. Once she walked out of earshot, I continued, “This is the first I’ve heard about any financial problems, Brina. Why didn’t you ask me for some money?”

  “I could never do that!”

  “Why not? That’s what friends are for, dammit!”

  “I don’t want you and Jason giving me handouts. I know how hard it was for the two of you to get where you are. I watched your dreams come true right before my eyes, and I could never take away from that.”

  I mulled it over for a moment in silence. I never realized Brina could be so damn stubborn. “Okay, fine. I won’t give you anything. I’ll make you earn it.” Brina looked at me, full of confusion. “Come work for me. It’s the perfect solution, and we can spend a whole lot of time together.”

  She started chewing on her bottom lip, lost in thought. “I don’t know about this, Zoe. I don’t want to mess up a good thing. I’ve been at my company for a while now.”

  “And they haven’t promoted you, given you a raise, or done a damn thing for you except give you a bunch of aggravation.” I smiled at her, hoping to encourage her to accept. “Besides, I pay well, and you won’t have to fight with me to take vacation time or to leave early or anything.”

  She laughed. “That’s true. My boss, Mrs. Green, can be a mean old heifer when I ask to leave even an hour early.”

  “So accept my offer then, dammit.”

  “But all I have are secretarial skills, and those aren’t all that great. Do you even have an opening at your company in the first place?”

  “No, but I’ll make one up. I’m the owner. I can do whatever the hell I want.” She still hesitated. “I don’t have a personal assistant. I never have had, but now that I think about it, I could surely use one. You could go visit artists with me and hang out at galleries and art shows. Do power lunches. You would love it.”

  The waitress came back again, about to cop an attitude since we were taking up table space and not eating. I could understand it. Business is business and tips are tips. The Cheesecake Factory was packed since it was a Saturday afternoon. We finally put the waitress out of her misery, glanced over the menu, and ordered a couple of grilled chicken salads with blue cheese dressing, some cheese toast, and a basket of chicken tenders.

  “Well?” I asked, giving Brina my undivided attention while we waited for the food. “What’s your answer?”

  “Let me think about it, okay?”

  Now it was my time
to be confused. “Think about it? Do you know how many sistahs would jump at the opportunity I just offered you?”

  “Yes,” she replied, giggling, but I failed to see the joke. “I’m just not sure I can deal with you as my boss. You’re my best friend and all, but I know your temper tantrums better than anyone, and when we get into it, we really get into it. I remember how you and Jason used to go at it all the time when we were kids.”

  “I’m offended,” I stated, even though she was right to an extent. “I’m strictly professional at work. Now as far as me getting in your ass about trifling things after work hours, that’s still a free-for-all playing field.”

  “Like I said, let me think about it, Zoe. Either way, thanks for the offer. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. You’re always there for me.”

  I dropped it. In fact, I dropped everything. The money issue, the work issue, the Dempsey bastard issue. We enjoyed our lunch and caught up on insignificant things. Once I dropped her back at her place, I asked to use her bathroom before I headed home. I can only imagine her surprise when she discovered the check for five thousand dollars I left on her vanity. I left her a note saying she better not even mention it, and she better cash it, or I would be mad at her ass. I also told her not to dare thank me for it because that’s what friends are for, but urged her to give some serious consideration to my job offer. I was hoping she would see things my way and accept.

  chapter

  eleven

  “It’s nice to see you again, Zoe.” Dr. Marcella Spencer was setting up her tape recorder when I entered her office. After she had it all hooked up and ready to catch my dirt, she came around the desk and shook my hand.

  “Nice to see you again, too.” It was Wednesday—five days since our initial conversation.

  “How are you? Have a seat.”

  She motioned to the same wing chair, which was destined to become my home away from home, and I gladly sank into it. I was exhausted from being treated like a sex object during my creeping episodes and from the added stress of worrying about Brina. “I’m making it.”

  “Hmmm, making it doesn’t sound too positive. You want something to drink? Coffee, tea, water, maybe a soft drink?”

  “No thanks.” She was being extraordinarily friendly, and I began to wonder whether she had been feenin’ all week, anxiously awaiting to hear about the sexual escapades of the freakazoid slut she had as a new client.

  “Zoe, do you want to stay in the chair or use the chaise this time?”

  “I’m fine right here, Marcella. Thanks!”

  She grabbed her pen and pad, ready to jot down all my sins, but I had no intention of having another panic attack. The thing with Brina had made me realize one thing. I needed help just as much as she did, and it was time to get it.

  “So, Zoe, shall we begin?” She was all ears.

  “Sure.” I rubbed my eyes, both of them having bags underneath them from lack of sleep. “Where should I start this time?”

  “Well, I basically know about your relationship with your husband. You were quite frank regarding your lack of satisfaction sexually.” There was a silence, and I waited for the other shoe to drop. It did. “When you were leaving last time, you mentioned you were having three extramarital affairs, which, I will assume, is what you need the most help with?”

  I answered her sarcastically. “Ummm, yeah, you could say that fucking three other people is the heart of the problem.”

  I regretted the way I came off at her and immediately apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you. There’s just been a lot of shit going on in my life lately.”

  “I understand. Believe me, I do.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and whatever I don’t understand, we will work on together. Trust me, Zoe! There’s nothing you can tell me that will make me think any less of you. I’m here to help.”

  Her hands started trembling, and I got the distinct impression she was more nervous than I was. I guess a woman who fucks men like she changes panties would make anyone uneasy.

  So I began. “I love Jason and my kids dearly. They’re my heart and soul. I only wish they were enough to fulfill all my needs. I have three regular lovers other than my husband. Each one of them gives me something different. For months now I’ve tried to stop this madness, but I can’t. My addiction to sex has taken me over.”

  “I see.”

  I hate it when you spill your guts out and someone says “I see.” It makes me feel like they are either bored, skeptical, or appalled. I got up from the seat and walked over to one of the windows. I don’t know what my fascination is with looking at the sky, but I definitely have one. Maybe I missed my true calling to become a weather forecaster. It was cloudy that day, and the sun was about halfway tucked away for the night.

  “While I love Jason more than life itself and would die if he ever found out, he’s never been able to sate all of my sexual desires. He’s very old-fashioned and thinks a man should have total control in the bedroom. Jason believes in very little foreplay. He’ll only have sex with me in the missionary position. He’ll only have sex with the lights off, and he’s totally against oral sex. I brought up the subject of anal sex once, and he almost had a heart attack.”

  “So you decided to seek fulfillment of your needs someplace else?”

  I took a seat on the chaise longue and lay down in Marcella’s office for the first time. The secrets I was about to reveal to her had tormented me for so long. While it might be painful, it was going to be a great relief to get it all off my chest. “Because we fell in love so young, I’m the only lover Jason’s ever had. As far as he knows, the same is true in my case. Up until a year ago, Jason was in fact the only lover I ever had. Then the madness began. . . .”

  chapter

  twelve

  I was attending the opening of a new public high school when I first met Quinton. It was a magnet school, specializing in the performing arts, and Quinton was the artist commissioned by the city of Atlanta to paint a mural in the cafeteria.

  Quinton Matthews was renowned throughout the world, and as an arts dealer, I was very familiar with his artistic talent. I had seen his picture once, but it didn’t do him justice.

  When I arrived at the opening, I was late, and the mayor had already done the traditional ribbon-cutting ceremony. A business associate, Rebecca Swanson, had invited me, and before I made it ten feet into the cafeteria she greeted me with a huge smile and a glass of champagne.

  Meeting Quinton Matthews was my main reason for attending. At the young age of thirty, he had already achieved legendary status as a contemporary artist. I was hoping to sweet-talk him into letting me produce some of his originals as prints and add them to my sales collection.

  The mural Quinton designed on the cafeteria wall was nothing short of breathtaking. It depicted dozens of teenagers, of all ethnic groups, involved in various activities, everything from ballet to playing musical instruments to portraying Shakespeare on a stage.

  As I walked along the wall, pausing to glance at each scene, I shuddered to think how many hours it must have taken to create such a masterpiece. I also wondered what kind of man had the vision and creativity to commit himself to such a task. It reminded me a lot of Jason, the time and effort he put into his architecture.

  The high school wasn’t the only place I had seen Quinton Matthews’s work up close. His creations were all over the city. My favorite was one of the Atlanta skyline on a concrete wall in a downtown MARTA station. I used to go down to the station, just a few blocks from my office, sit on a bench, and eat lunch. The mural seemed to have a calming effect on me, and sometimes even an arousing one. I have no idea why, but I somehow equated his creative nature with sex. Then again, I equated most things with sex back then.

  Maybe that’s why I was such a huge fan of his, and perhaps the real reason I wanted to meet him was curiosity—not about his work, but about the man himself. Curiosity might kill most cats, b
ut it made the cat between my legs purr.

  When I got to the section of the mural depicting a group of ballerinas with their arms neatly folded over tutus, standing on the hard toes of ballet slippers, I felt someone breathing down my neck.

  “You like the mural, huh?”

  His voice was deep and distinguished. I didn’t turn around. I assumed he was one of the several hundred patrons who had come to the opening to see how their generous donations were spent.

  “I don’t like it! I love it! Quinton Matthews is a great artist, isn’t he?”

  “Hmm, if you say so.”

  I didn’t like the sarcasm in his voice and quickly spun around, ready to defend my favorite artist and confront the arrogant son of a giga monster who lacked a true appreciation of his gift.

  “Listen, he’s—” I froze.

  “Yes? He’s what?”

  I must have had the most ridiculous look on my face, because I was damn sure embarrassed when I realized I was face-to-face with Quinton Matthews himself.

  “Mr. Matthews!” I grabbed his hand and started shaking it like a political science major who’s just snatched up the opportunity to meet the president of the United States. “It’s such an honor to meet you!”

  He stopped shaking my hand but refused to let it go when I tried to retrieve it. Instead, he lifted it up to his mouth and kissed it. “One problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We haven’t officially met yet, Ms.?”

  “It’s Mrs. Mrs. Zoe Reynard.” I flashed the wedding ring on my other hand at him as if I needed to provide some form of physical evidence to support the statement. I was really trippin’. I was used to meeting men, but I was acting like a nervous teenager around Quinton Matthews.

  “Damn, just my luck.” I noticed he was still holding my hand and pulled it away, pretending I needed it to prevent my purse strap from falling off my shoulder. “The good ones are always taken.”