Nappily Married

by Trisha R. Thomas

  “Yes. Thank you. You won’t regret your decision.”

  But I would. I hung up the phone. What had I done?

  Ultimatum

  It was an exquisite setting, complete with a view of the city, fine dining, and a killer little black dress. I adjusted my back to a nagging itch several times until I finally reached back to find a tag still attached. I snatched it off and crumpled it in my hand.

  I’d called Jake and told him to meet me for dinner at his favorite restaurant. I had great news. His response, “I’m finally getting my little JJ?” Referring to his wish for a Jacob Marcus Parson Junior. We’d talked about it on and off. I knew in the long run Mya needed a baby brother or sister. I just wasn’t up to it anytime soon.

  “No, sweetie, no JJ for now. Just be there. Reservations are for seven.”

  When he walked into the restaurant, I wanted to get up and run in the other direction. This man, serious and remarkable, complete in his duty as a husband and father, had no idea what I was going to say.

  I waved, then turned my head toward the twinkling lights of the city skyline. He bent over and kissed me on the cheek. I grabbed his hand while he sat. “Hi, baby.”

  We were immediately accosted by the male waiter with overwaxed brows. “Sir, what can I get you to drink this evening?”

  I hung on Jake’s decision, figuring if he ordered a hard-hitting drink like Remy and Coke, I’d go straight with the truth. After the first sip, he’d be too numb to feel the pain. If he ordered something light and fruity, I’d have to dance around the truth, lie, using my story of coincidentally meeting the hospital director while I was laid up with the broken leg. No mention whatsoever of Dr. Ex-Lova.

  The waiter stood patiently at our side as if we were his only customers, though the restaurant was filled beyond capacity.

  Jake still hadn’t decided.

  “Water for me.” I swallowed a few times, wondering when my tongue would loosen up.

  “Apple martini, without the apple,” Jake said.

  Great. This would take all night. But then again, he’d left out the actual fruit. So it wasn’t technically light and fruity. Martini: two parts gin, one part vermouth, shaken with ice and a dash of sweetened syrup.

  “Wonderful choice.” The waiter still lingered near Jake. “And can I bring you an appetizer, sir?”

  “The bread … what’s it called?”

  “Yes, sir, I know exactly what you want.”

  Jake folded his hands in front of him. His jacket fell away to the sides. His crisp collar no longer held the tie I’d seen him wearing at the start of the day. “So what are we celebrating?”

  I grabbed his soft firm hands over the table. “Well, I got a job.”

  He slipped his hand out of mine.

  “Okay, let’s start over. Hi, baby—guess what, I got ajob. And you say … That’s wonderful, sweetheart. I know this is what you want and I’m going to offer my full support,” I choked from making my voice too deep.

  He shook his head. “You do a lousy impersonation of me.” He leaned past the table and placed a soft thick kiss on my lips. “So where’s this great new job?”

  The waiter came back and turned the crystal goblet in front of me up, then poured the bottled water. I grabbed the glass and took a short sip.

  “It’s going to be great. I’m very excited. Jackson Memorial,” I continued, carrying on the conversation with myself. “The hospital is in dire need of someone who can put out a good message. I mean, the place will close if they don’t do something soon. I’m going to be their new public affairs spokesperson.” I looked up briefly, fearing Jake had actually left me sitting at the table alone.

  He continued staring at me dead-on, making me fear the moment when he eventually did speak. His dark lashes fanned with a few hard blinks, as if trying to discern my speech pattern. “I think I missed the first part, and the last, and everything in between.” He leaned forward. “Especially the part about you working where your ex-boyfriend is centrally located. You want to go over that part again?”

  “Ah-huh,” I said, looking around briefly. Everyone was in their own world, laughing and talking. Dim lighting kept the focus on the person directly in front of the diners. The volume of chatter alternated between highs and lows with a large party closer to the back, where I wished we were. I was about to go into my speech before he put up a hand.

  “No. Don’t bother.” Jake leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “It’s looking real clear to me that you think I’m completely stupid. You must—there is no other explanation.”

  “What? I—”

  “Nah, we can end this conversation right here.”

  “There is another explanation. I actually thought you’d be mature and’-”

  “Oh, okay, so I’m immature now.” He laughed unexpectedly. “So you’re all of a sudden the smart, mature, do-the-right-thing older woman? And I’m the pull-anything-over-on younger dude you happened to marry? The one naïve enough to let you walk into that hospital every day and work with a man you lived with and loved, and even planned to marry at one time? Accepting that would make me mature, is that what you’re telling me?” He made some kind of gurgling sound, a cross between a laugh and clearing of his throat. He picked up a piece of bread and dipped it into the olive oil. With calm ease he sensuously slid the piece into his mouth and chewed lightly. He took a sip of his martini. We sat for a solid minute without eye contact.

  “How could you be so insecure? You go to the JP Wear studio every single day and work with Beverly Shaun. I know about the two of you, your history. Do I worry? No, because I trust you. Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

  “I don’t trust the situation. The difference is simple. Beverly and I have been working together for the last four years. There’s no lost-love scenario. No rekindling, or trying to get back what was once taken away. We see each other almost every day. She’s like my sister. With you and the doctor in the hood, there are a lot of loose ends. I’m not going to sit back and watch you try to tie them up.”

  “You’re accusing me of doing something I haven’t even thought about, let alone, plotted and planned. And Jake, as a side note, you don’t screw your sister.”

  He rolled his eyes, ignoring my tactic of bait and switch. He leaned into the table and gently picked up my hand and kissed it. “I’m saying it doesn’t have anything to do with you … or him. It’s the situation. If it was different, we’d be having another discussion, but it is what it is.”

  “I’m taking the position. I start tomorrow,” I said flatly, taking my hand back.

  “So right here, right now, we’re renegotiating the terms of this relationship. Is that what you’re telling me?” He pointed a finger on the table. I detected a hidden threat.

  “I’m not renegotiating anything,” I swallowed, tempted to back down. “There’s no reason for you to feel this way. None. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It’s that simple. Taking a job, whether it’s at this hospital, or anywhere else, has nothing to do with our relationship.”

  “Why all of a sudden do you want to work for Jackson Memorial, which by the way is shutting down? It doesn’t even make sense for you take a position there, unless it’s to pack boxes.”

  “Exactly, I want to try and save the hospital.”

  He started to laugh. A raucous, deep, hearty laugh. No hint of faking it out of spite. Here he was genuinely amused and slapping the table and swiping his eyes for good measure.

  “What is so funny?”

  “I’m sorry … I’m sorry. It’s—” He attempted to stifle his amusement. “Baby, I think it’s a noble plan. Your heart is in the right place, but this thing is bigger than you and your magic. I know what you’re capable of, but this seems a little out of your range.”

  Oooooh-no-he-did-nt. “I’m going to take the position. I can help them. You didn’t see what I saw. That place is taking care of people who otherwise would be dying on the street. There are babies
there that can’t breathe or eat on their own. They’d already be dead if Jackson Memorial wasn’t right there in the community.”

  He no longer thought the situation was funny. “The community? The area of town you didn’t want to be caught in after sundown, and practically snapped my head off for leaving you and Mya there at Jack the Ripper? Now it’s power to the people and all that. Unbelievable. I know what this is about.” He glared.

  “Okay, you found me out. It’s about me taking a position right up my alley and being able to do some good at the same time.”

  “And the good doctor has nothing to do with it?”

  “Jake, his wife works at the hospital, for goodness’ sake. I mean, truly, this is about me starting my life again.” What did I say that for? It came out completely wrong. Jake stood up and didn’t waste another minute trying to listen to what I had to say. He stormed out of the restaurant.

  I followed right behind him. “This hospital is important.”

  Jake handed his ticket to the valet and refused to look in my direction.

  “You can’t tell me where I can work, Jake. That’s ridiculous. I’m not after Clint Fairchild. I couldn’t care less about him. I’m trying to get back on the horse. You said yourself that’s why you fell in love with me … because of my spirit, my ambition.”

  “Then find another hospital you want to do such great works, find any place, I’ll pay your fucking salary.”

  We’d had our share of passionate fights, but we both agreed on the rules. Spewing out four-letter words was just as dangerous as brandishing sharp knives. Cuts healed but always left scars. As soon as he realized he’d broken code number one, he suddenly softened. “How do you expect me to feel when you say you want to start your life again, huh? I’ll tell you, like I’ve been a side note for the last two years.” The shiny red two-seater arrived. He peeled off a twenty and handed it to the valet. “I’ll see you at home.” He sped off while I stood in the cool night air freezing in my little black dress.

  In the time it took to go back inside the restaurant and cover the check, then get home at my Driving Miss Daisy speed, the house was settled and dark. Jake had already sent Trina home and tucked Mya in for the night. I slumped to our bedroom, where he pretended to be asleep with the covers pulled close around his broad shoulders.

  “I hate fighting with you.” I waited for him to face me.

  He stayed in position, refusing to give in so easy. “Just tell me yes or no. Are you going to take this job?”

  I kissed him near his ear. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” I waited patiently for the reverse psychology to kick in. A few more seconds, and I let the heat of my breath slide down his neck. Jake had a few tender spots, places where I could send him over the edge within minutes. I teased with my tongue then slipped my hands under the covers to the rim of his shorts. “Whatever you want, baby, I’ll do,” I whispered.

  He rolled over with a boat-sized erection. I shoved the sides of my black dress over my thighs and straddled him. He reached underneath and moved my thong out of the way. He slid deep inside me.

  “Um, yesss. ” I was sure by morning the entire issue would be resolved.

  Love, Honor, and Obey

  I think I’ve wanted to be a married woman all my life. When I was a little girl, I practiced saying my vows in the mirror with a towel draped over my head holding a handful of folded-over toilet tissue for my bouquet. My Ken doll sat on the edge of the sink, bright eyed and all smiles, wearing a multicolored vest over his white turtleneck and pants that, had Ken been anatomically correct, could be classified as crotch crunchers.

  In a deep southern preacher’s voice I asked, “Do you Venus Johnston promise to love, honor, and obey?”

  “Why, yes, yes, I do,” I’d respond like Scarlett O’Hara. I meant it, too. Then why in the world, you’re probably asking, would I put it all in jeopardy over a job?

  I woke up with the question imprinted on my mind, listless and hungover, though I hadn’t ingested one ounce of alcohol. I rolled over to see Jake’s side of the bed empty. I heard him stirring around in the bathroom, using his overpriced face washes and exfoliating shaving creams. When the water stopped running and the drawers stopped opening and closing, I knew he was headed my way.

  I curled up and tried to stop my eyes from moving underneath my lids. I felt him standing over me. I couldn’t pretend any longer. I opened my eyes when Ifigured he wasn’t going to budge. “You awake?” he asked, though it was obvious with my eyes blinking for focus.

  He stood a lickable distance away, wearing only loose boxers stopping at his firm muscular thighs, his arms folded over his bare chest. I felt like purring and wondered if he was ready for round two. The fight at dinner led to the perfect makeup sex, the kind that left me useless till noon.

  “What did we decide?” He asked slowly, as if I were under a hypnotic spell. He didn’t know he was the one victim to my magic.

  “We decided, I’m a grown-ass woman who won’t be told what to do.” I rolled over, smothering my face in the pillow.

  “Noooo, that’s not what weee decided.”

  I flipped back over, facing him. “All right, what did we decide?”

  He squatted at eye level. He slipped his hand under the cover and trailed to my middle. He rubbed lightly, sending me into tiny quivers. “We decided that you could take the position. The minute, the second, you put this job before me or Mya or have any irrational behavior, you quit.”

  “What did we classify as irrational behavior?” I said, fighting the urge to reach out and stroke the fine hairs of his carefully shaped goatee.

  “Irrational behavior would be, um let me think, anything I say is irrational.” His dark long lashes swept closed then back open again. “All I want is for you not to get carried away.” He pulled his fingers out and put them to his lips. “It’s just something to keep you busy—it’s not a livelihood. I take care of you, that’s all you need.” He held out his pinkie.

  I looped my pinkie finger around his. “You know, alot of men would appreciate their wives getting off their ass and bringing home a paycheck.”

  “Are we clear?” he asked, squeezing the blood to the top of my pinkie.

  “Yes, sir, Captain JP, sir.” We shook on it.

  “Hey—” He kissed me deep and hard. “—better not be late for your first day.”

  “Be gone,” I moaned, feeling like I’d run a ten K and wanted two or more laps from deliriousness. The woman myth about having an overactive sex drive starting around midlife was true, and Jake knew it. He, being ayounger man, made us evenly matched in the getting it and giving it department. I liked sex a lot. Not in general, per se, I should make that clear, but with Jake. I wasn’t a desperate housewife. I wasn’t trying to make the bag boy at Gelson’s Market my love slave or anything. I was completely satisfied in the pants-down department. Besides, the only other men who’d crossed my path weren’t very appealing. I grocery-shopped once a week and stood in line with husbands sent there by their wives, obvious by the six-pack of beer, diapers, and sanitary napkins. I went to Mommy & Me and Gymboree classes three times a week. All the dads there were either gay or laid off and pretending to like their new jobs as househusbands. There was a man in my Pilates class who came with his wife as if there were a gun to his head, and he moved accordingly. There was the mailman, the UPS man who delivered all my Babyland items. I had a special tingly feeling when I heard the delivery truck pulling up with the special honk just for me. There was the seventy-year-old handy man, Jim, who unclogged my drains, caulked the windows, and hauled away my baby junk after Mya lost interest. I admit I felt a certain little something for the old guy, more like hero worship.

  I could see where Jake could be concerned: I’d basically been cut off from all possible attractions. Now here was the main attraction, the show I never saw the ending to—Dr. Clint Fairchild.

  But it wasn’t about Clint, I kept telling myself. I was happily married with a kid. It was ab
out keeping myself whole, not squandering my mind on pet peeves such as toothpaste spilled in the sink and left for me to rinse away. Or going into the bathroom with half a sheet left on the roll, or giving up the remote and letting Jake turn the channel even though I was in the middle of a trial on Court TV. Pet peeves could become monsters if studied for too long. I didn’t want to be that kind of wife.

  I just wanted to feel good about myself. I admit my first reasoning for wanting to take on Jackson Memorial centered selfishly on being a thorn in Kandi’s side, but the more I thought about it, the more I became committed to helping the hospital stay open and to having a purpose. I knew I had a calling, one that I would not take lightly. Jackson Memorial deserved a second chance. Don’t we all?

  Introduction

  First-day excitement fluttered in my belly along with the double-shot espresso I’d drunk on the way. Arriving at the hospital at eight sharp, I found the entrance peacefully surrounded by tall healthy green palms silently greeting me like guards at attention. The picketers hadn’t arrived yet for duty. I was walking on air, my heart beating so heavily, I didn’t hear my name being called.

  Morgan Taylor stood erect with arms extended. “Come. Welcome.” She gave me a stiff hug.

  “I’m really excited. Thank you for this opportunity.”

  “It’s an honor having you. Come, I’ll show you to your office.” Morgan led, and I followed. “There is something I want to tell you before we go on.”

  I waited for her to stop, but she didn’t. Her pace, in fact, picked up a little.

  “This position is very important to the hospital, the staff, we’re all depending on this person being able to turn things around. That’s why I had to bring you both on board … just to allow me the chance to make the right decision.”

  “Both?”

  “There she is.”

  I followed Morgan’s line of vision to none other than Kandi Treboe, now Mrs. Fairchild. But not to confuse, we’ll just call her She-whore … okay … She for short.