Blind Delusion

by Dorothy Phaire

  The coffee plunked its last drop into the Mr. Coffee® pot and its aroma filled the kitchen. The lunches were made, Justin’s bottles were refrigerated and ready to be packed, breakfast was ready and the table had been set. Brenda wiped her hands on her robe and headed upstairs towards the nursery to get the baby dressed for the day. The burdens didn’t let up on her but she told herself she didn’t mind if it meant keeping her family together. Jerome wasn’t beating her or verbally abusing her. In fact, he had never been abusive. Sure, he had his problems, but despite what her mother and her girlfriends believed, he did treat her like a queen in his own way. He was going to work everyday and bringing home his paycheck. Maybe he didn’t help around the house as much as she would have liked, but he had settled into fatherhood and was still drug-free after 18 months! Now that was something to be thankful for in anybody’s book. Maybe things weren’t always perfect, but all-in-all her life was pretty good. They had a healthy, beautiful baby boy. Jerome had a good job now. And, they had finally moved out of the Meadowland Gardens projects in their old Trinidad neighborhood in Northeast Washington. Brenda knew that could all change in a day, but she was not going to give up on Jerome just yet. She would never be like her manipulating mother and treat Jerome the way that her mother treated her father. All Jerome needed was love and understanding. Prayer, patience, and forgiveness were working. She would do her part to help her husband stay drug-free. Hadn’t she done it for going on eighteen months now? She decided she was not going to let anybody give her unsolicited advice about her man, especially from people whose lives hadn’t turned out any better than her own.

  Chapter 5

  Friday morning. Her birthday. Renee woke up with a headache. She glanced at Bill’s sleeping frame. His broad back faced her like a stone wall. She got up slowly, not wanting to wake him, slipped on her robe and went into the anteroom. She pulled open the drawer of her French writing desk, barely noticing the gold and brass inlay as she retrieved a sheet of stationery and a sheet of red gift-wrap tissue. She removed her black, silk panties, enclosed them in tissue and placed them inside a small manila envelope so that nothing would show through. The last thing she needed was for the U. S. Postmaster to arrive at her door to have her arrested for sending indecent material through the mail. On the stationery she wrote:

  ‘Bill, I wore these last night and dreamed of you. Meet me for dinner on Saturday at 7 in our formal dining room. I have a surprise for you, Darling.’

  After dropping a few trickles of cologne on the note, she folded and sealed it inside the envelope. Renee addressed the envelope to Bill without placing a return label. She unlocked a side drawer and stuffed the envelope inside the desk temporarily for safekeeping. She would take it to the post office sometime later that day.

  Before closing the drawer, she spotted her black and white speckled composition notebook that peeked out from its hiding place under a stack of papers and documents. Months had passed since Renee had last written in her diary. Journal writing was one of her recommendations to patients facing stressful life events and experiencing bouts of depression. Renee, however, rarely followed her own advice. But today was her birthday and she felt compelled to write down her thoughts.

  I’m 45 today. Eligible for coverage on those ‘burial costs’ insurance policies that I keep seeing on commercials—age 45 to 65, no physical required. In five more years AARP will be hounding me to join them. Is this all there is? Live a meaningless life then you die? Does God really exist? Then where’s he been for the last 39 years? Bill and I were briefly separated a few months ago then got back together. Why, I have no idea because nothing has changed. Like Gladys Knight’s song, Neither One of Us … wants to go to the courthouse and file for legal separation. I know what I want but can’t seem to get it. I want a baby. I want a man who loves me and who’s not afraid to show it. That, sure as hell is not Bill! But do I end a 14-year marriage and risk facing 50 alone? Nobody’s perfect, certainly not yours truly. So here I sit in this hopeless state of limbo. Living a lie. I’ve been purposely avoiding Deek. He’s called my office a few times and left messages just to say hello but I never return his calls. Lately, I only think of him a couple of times a day instead of every hour like I used to. I guess that’s progress.

  Renee put down her pen, shut the notebook and locked her diary back inside the drawer. Writing down her feelings hadn’t really helped. She hoped her birthday celebration and the follow-up evening she planned for Bill on Saturday, would rekindle their relationship.

  When she returned to the bedroom, she heard the green-eyed monster scratching and purring at the bedroom door to get inside. Renee ignored the cat’s pleas as she stood in front of the mirror and brushed her hair. New grayish growth was coming in and the hair felt crinkled at the roots. It was a good thing she had an appointment with Cha-Cha at Good Looks that afternoon. The stylist would undoubtedly work her usual miracles. As 45 stared back at her, Renee understood that her sadness had little to do with the puffy circles under her dark brown eyes from lack of sleep and the reality of growing another year older. The emptiness stemmed from losses—the loss of her mother at six, of a father who preferred traipsing around the country in search of musical fame, and the loss of her unborn child. Renee no longer remembered what it was like to feel normal, to wake up and feel joy about facing a new day. Instead, she felt a heaviness weighing her down as if she needed to be pulled along in order to advance through each hour of the day.

  The cat’s loud purring continued to echo behind the closed door. Buying Angel had been Bill’s idea of a sweetheart gift during their one-month trial separation. After inviting Renee to see one of her favorite Washington Ballet performances, Romeo and Juliet at the Kennedy Center, Bill had shown up that evening handsomely dressed in a black tuxedo. He’d ruined the entire date by surprising her with this tiny ball of white fluff that nestled in the crook of his arm. Its large green eyes glowed in the dark without blinking. Even as a kitten, it had hissed at her and Renee swore the thing was possessed. Bill stationed the creature in its carrying case on the kitchen floor and spent a good fifteen minutes bent down smiling and talking to the kitten through the plastic bars. They had been late for the ballet and Renee had spent the entire evening picking white cat fur off his sleeve. If she had any guts at all she would put Angel in her carrying case after Bill left for work this morning and deposit her at the nearest animal shelter. Surely somebody would be duped by those big, sad, green eyes and adopt her. The cat’s purring and scratching eventually woke up Bill.

  He got out of bed and opened the door then gently scooped up the cat that had become more his than hers. Angel in turn greeted her master with purrs and rubbed her side against his hand. Whenever Bill was around, she circled his ankles or curled on top his lap. This cat definitely had a split personality. With Bill she was gentle and affectionate. With Renee she’d arch her back and turn into a snarling, scratching, toe-biting vixen. Renee knew she could forget about getting any peace, now that Bill had let that damn cat into the bedroom.

  “How did your meeting go last night? I didn’t hear you come in,” she said with an unmistakable edge in her voice. Though, if Bill caught the irritation in her tone, he ignored it.

  “Great,” he said, still playing with Angel, “Shaw’s well-connected politically and that’s important in this city. I know you’re not interested in our business details. Pick out one of your best dresses, babe. I’m taking you some place special tonight.”

  He gently lowered the cat. It jumped from his arms to the floor.

  “Where?” she asked, her eyes glistening like a child’s.

  “It’s a surprise, Renee. Don’t be so nosey.” He playfully tossed a chair pillow at her, purposely missing.

  “Did it occur to you that I might need to know how to dress, dear?” She emphasized ‘dear’ as she threw the pillow back at him, making contact with the back of his head.

  “Oh, all
right. It’s black tie. And I know how you are so I’m warning you now, be ready by 6:30 sharp. We need to be on time, cocktails start at 7 and dinner’s at 8.”

  He disappeared into his bathroom and Renee heard the shower running. As soon as Bill had left the room, Angel snipped at Renee’s feet with sharp, angry teeth. Renee kicked her but she came right back with a vengeance and continued to bite and nip Renee’s toes. When Renee wildly swung her arms at the cat, Angel took flight and leaped on top of a silk-skirted table next to the bed. She knocked over a stack of books, and a silver-framed photo of Renee’s parents, but the plush alabaster white carpet cushioned the frame and kept it from breaking.

  “Damn you,” Renee whispered under her breath, “You better hope I don’t catch your furry little behind.” She chased the cat and tried to grab it by the neck but Angel quickly jumped down and hid in Renee’s closet. Running on a bad attitude, a hangover from too much wine last night, and no morning coffee, Renee didn’t have the stamina to box with a cat this morning. She slammed the closet door shut and locked the cat inside, knowing that Angel’s punishment would be short-lived once Bill heard her cries.

  Water gushing from Bill’s shower drowned out Angel’s moans until the water stopped. Renee swung open the closet door to release her just in time. The cat hissed at her then raced down the hallway. Bill came out of the bathroom and dressed quickly in silence. He appeared to be lost in his own private thoughts. But he had obviously planned a wonderful evening tonight for her birthday, which seemed out of character for him. Renee looked forward to dressing up and looking fabulous. The evening might turn out to be fun. It would help take the sting out of aging another year.

  “See ya later, Babe.” Bill bent down and planted a swift peck on her check. “I gotta go make some money. Don’t forget now. I need you ready by 6:30 tonight.” He hadn’t even wished her happy birthday.

  The reconciliation with Bill was speeding down a slippery runway to an inevitable collision. She knew they needed more marriage counseling but every time she brought up the subject he avoided it. When she did schedule appointments, he neglected to show up. Although Renee was trained to help others with their relationship problems, she couldn’t seem to repair her own. She hoped her plans for a sensual evening on Saturday would work. Renee was more than willing to meet Bill’s needs and desires. But who would meet her needs?

  Chapter 6

  Renee sat at the kitchen counter and absently picked at her chicken salad and sipped green tea, while reading her latest issue of Mental Health Weekly magazine. She still didn’t have much of an appetite even after having skipped breakfast that morning. An article on post traumatic stress syndrome wasn’t holding her interest as the article said nothing that she didn’t already know. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was almost time to leave for her 12:30 PM appointment with Kim at the nail salon for a pedicure and French manicure. The telephone rang just as she rose to put away the rest of her salad. The callerid showed it was Bill calling from his cell phone. Renee smiled and picked up the receiver. He hadn’t forgotten to wish her happy birthday after all. “Hi Honey, I’m so glad you called,” she said, “I’m really looking forward to this evening. I bet you …”

  Bill interrupted before she could finish her sentence. “Babe, I can’t talk long. I’m in the lobby at the Courthouse and I need to get right back to Shaw before his next docket number comes up. Sorry, I had to rush outta there so fast this morning. Did you feed Angel for me? I didn’t have time to feed her this morning.”

  “Of course, I fed her. Bill, I thought …”

  “Great. Thanks babe,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll be home on time so be ready to go, okay? Love you,” he blurted out in one anxious breath.

  She heard a quick airwave kiss followed by a brisk hang-up then the dial tone. So he hadn’t called to wish her a happy birthday. It was that damn cat again. She held the receiver to her ear, listening to the flat, reverberation for several seconds longer.

  “Jerk.” She muttered when she finally slammed the dead phone down. “Okay. I’m going to force myself to act calm and sweet, even if I have to turn schizophrenic to do it,” she said to herself. She was determined to not let anything spoil her 45th birthday, not even Bill. Renee grabbed her jacket and purse and headed towards her first stop at Kim’s, her manicurist. On the way to Kim’s she made a quick detour to the Post Office to mail the letter containing her silk underwear to Bill. If that didn’t get his attention nothing would. Kim was fast, as usual, and in less than an hour, Renee was out of the nail salon. Next, she maneuvered through congested streets in stop and go traffic to get to her two o’clock with Cha-Cha, her long-time hair stylist. Good Looks Beauty Shop was located in the multi-ethnic part of Adams Morgan. Renee had been going to Good Looks ever since her office assistant had recommended Cha-Cha over a year ago. The two young ladies had known each other since high school. Remarkably, Renee found a parking space close by the shop. The door chimed as Renee entered the salon.

  Poster size headshots of models with complexions ranging from ivory to deep mahogany, and wearing a variety of hairstyles dyed in vibrant colors, lined the beauty shop walls. Renee wrote her name on the client sign-in sheet, put Cha-Cha’s name down as her stylist and marked her arrival time as 2:05 PM. She sat down to wait and silently fumed. Typical Cha-Cha behavior, she thought, always late. Renee didn’t know why she had risked getting into an accident to get there on time. Obviously Renee needed her stylist more than Cha-Cha needed the money. As much as she wanted to get up and leave, Renee couldn’t get another appointment with someone else this late. Besides, whom else but to Cha-Cha could she trust her hair? Bill was taking her someplace special tonight for her birthday. She needed a fresh application of Egyptian sable rinse to conceal the few sprouting gray roots, a touch-up to lay down the new growth, and a fancy ‘up-do’ for the evening. After leaving there, she’d stop by Saks for some Bobby Brown lipstick and matching eye shadow and buy that ‘Flatter Me’ bra for her Dolce & Gabbana gown she planned to wear tonight. If Cha-Cha didn’t show up soon, she might not have time to run all her errands. Cha-Cha’s tip was dwindling with each passing minute.

  Renee was well aware that for years Cha-Cha had paid her station fees to a string of shop owners in order to serve her loyal clients as Cha-Cha claimed. Just recently, Cha-Cha had bought out Good Looks Beauty Salon’s previous owner, and now ran her own establishment. But to Renee it seemed that becoming a new owner hadn’t changed Cha-Cha’s old habits. Her stylist had still not arrived on time. While she waited, Renee observed the activity around her. On this Friday afternoon, the art deco adorned salon was packed. Clients sat reading under dryers, leaning back into wash bowls, or sitting in styling chairs, getting their hair creamed, coifed, or cut by one of the other three stylists. Laughter and idle chatter mingled with a concert of popular tunes coming from the too loud CD player. Every five minutes the telephone rang and the teenager at the desk answered it, repeating variations of the same message, “Sorry, Ma’am. Cha-Cha’s not in yet. Her appointment book is full all day today and tomorrow. Try calling back to see if she can fit you in.”

  You would have thought Cha-Cha was the personal stylist for a string of Hollywood celebrities as much as she was in demand. Renee scanned the customers still waiting and hoped none were there for Cha-Cha. A forty-something brownskin woman wearing a black leather jacket and clutching a Louis Vitton handbag sat on one of the cushioned chairs opposite Renee and rested a tired head in the palm of her hand. Next to her sat a plump woman in a Washington Redskins jacket who hid all her hair under a maroon knit cap.

  The door chime rang and a middle-aged, stout, liverish-colored man of average height lumbered through the door and immediately made his presence known. “Did anybody request a handsome Black man?” he grinned, with outstretched arms. “Here I am, Ladies.” He then greeted everyone in the shop with a loud, “How y’all doin’?” Renee had seen him at the s
hop many times before. Today he sported some mustard-yellow gabardine slacks and a matching yellow, silky shirt from his ‘seventies era’ Cavalier wardrobe. Always the flamboyant dresser, Renee had never once seen him wearing jeans or looking scruffy. He stroked his clean-shaven chin, looked around and finally sat down in the only empty chair left. Whittni, his stylist, told him she’d be ready to cut his hair in a few more minutes.

  “Okay, baby. Take your time, Sugah,” he said, and smoothed his gray-tinged mustache before settling down for some social and relaxation time.

  Renee knew all the girls at the shop who worked with Cha-Cha—Whittni, Takara, and Nadine. She had also become familiar with some of the regular customers, including this gentleman. Whittni called him Mr. Woods but he said his name was Alonzo Woods or Al to all his friends. He always got Whittni to shampoo and cut his hair and would wait however long it took for her to get to him. Renee suspected he preferred the beauty parlor to the barbershop down the street because he wanted to be in the company of the ladies. On a number of occasions Renee heard him brag that he drove an 18-wheel tractor-trailer as a top feeder driver for United Delivery Service (UDS). She found him overly friendly to the point of being sickening. He made her uncomfortable with his flirtations and sexual overtones. Renee was glad that Whittni chatted with him as she worked on her other customer’s hair. His heavy-lidded eyes closed at times as he spoke. Alonzo Woods always looked like he needed a nap.

  Whittni had a pleasant face and usually wore long braids. Today’s style was a handful of braids pulled at the crown in a ponytail while the bottom half of her braids touched her shoulder blades. She rarely made her customers wait more than ten minutes, so Renee figured she wouldn’t have to put up with Mr. Woods’ endless prattle for much longer.