A Weekend Affair (3 page)

“Oh, so you can't tell me where you're going now? You must be going away with some nigga. That's why you won't tell me.”

I hated when he used that word. If it wasn't for the fact that I was running out of time, I would have let this war of words continue, being one to not back down from a verbal fight. As it stood, my home phone rang. It was the cabdriver, letting me know he was out front. I quickly squashed what could have potentially become a huge argument.

“We're not together anymore, Daniel, so who I spend time with is really none of your concern. But since you're being so nosy, I'm going to Tybee Island for the weekend with Shell. We're going to the Savannah Black Heritage Festival. That was my cab calling, so you need to go. Now.”

Slowly, he rose up from the couch, and I ushered him toward the front door. “Wow, I'm surprised that nigga of hers actually let her out of lockdown,” he said, venom in his tone.

He had no clue what was going on with Shell or her broken marriage, and I wasn't about to share. Not taking him on, I grabbed my bags, secured my house alarm, and locked the door behind me. The cabdriver was already standing outside of his vehicle. He grabbed my carry-on, placing it in the trunk.

Turning briefly to Daniel, I said, “Bye,” then climbed into the backseat of the cab as he stood there, a look of frustration on his face.

The cab arrived at Delta's terminal in no time flat, and I quickly made it through security with plenty of time to spare. I was glad when the gate agent called for general boarding because my eyelids were beyond heavy. Once I boarded the plane, I slid into my seat, dozing off for the entire flight—despite a crying baby and a guy with body odor so offensive, he made you want to cry.

I sent Shell a text as soon as the plane touched down at the airport in Atlanta. Even though we were still a few hours away from our destination, I already felt some of my stress of the previous few hours fading. I felt even better when I saw Shell waiting for me at the terminal entrance.

Shell was a few inches taller than I, standing at five feet seven inches. She was what one would consider a thick chick; hips, boobs, and booty for days. She often complained that she felt fat and didn't feel attractive, but I think Malik had a lot to do with that. She had a rich dark mahogany complexion, and her jet-black hair was braided with thick extensions that hung down to the middle of her back. She wore a blue and white ombré off-the-shoulder top, with dark denim capris, and white wedge sandals. The entire ensemble was quite flattering.

“Gabby!” she exclaimed, arms outstretched for a hug.

“Shell!” I replied, hugging her in return. People were staring, but we didn't care.

“How was your flight?” she asked as we boarded the shuttle bus headed for the rental car office.

“Fine, if you like crying babies and body odor that smelled like onions,” I replied, a frown on my face. “If this trip wasn't so last minute, I definitely would have gone first class.”

“Eeewww!Thatsucks,” she laughed. “Bet you won't make that mistake again.”

“You'd easily win that bet,” I chuckled. “Kids all settled?”

Shell rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I paid Renee a hundred and fifty bucks for the weekend. That didn't include the food, snacks, and drinks I packed for my kids.”

“Humph. Paying a grandmother to watch grandkids who she hardly ever sees even though you only live a few miles away . . . Not to mention all you do for her to begin with. Yep, she's a real winner.” I could have said a lot more considering all I knew, but I refrained, not wanting to bring the mood down.

It didn't take us long to secure our vehicle, a black-on-black Dodge Journey, and be on our way. During the drive to Tybee Island, after briefly discussing our issues with the men in our lives, Shell and I kept the rest of our conversation light, with talk turning to the festival, Tybee Island nightlife, and our choice of location. For several days, I'd researched many possible rental properties for our weekend getaway. We wanted someplace affordable that was directly on the beach. We finally settled on a beach house called Almost Heaven. From the pictures we viewed online, it was just what we were looking for.

Around noon, we arrived at our destination, stopping first at the rental office to pick up the keys and garage door opener. When we drove up to the house, both our mouths dropped open. The beach house was a beautiful white, three-story structure with a huge two-car garage. I opened it, quickly parking our vehicle inside. Closing the garage door, Shell and I exited the SUV, gathered our respective belongings, and headed inside up the stairs leading to the main living area. Let me just say, the pictures did
not
do it justice. The inside was enormous. We left our bags in the foyer so we could explore before getting settled.

The first thing we noticed was the color scheme, with various shades of blue and cream prevalent throughout the home. The living room was expansive, containing two queen sleepers, several chairs, a coffee table, a rattan set with a table and two chairs, a 52-inch wide-screen television, DVD player, a gas log fireplace, and hardwood floors. Double doors led to the wrap-around screened porch with a six-person hot tub. Off of the living room was the supersized kitchen, which boasted a large center island, dual sink, numerous cabinets, and an eight-person casual dining area with a spectacular view of the beach.

On the same floor were two guest bedrooms, and a spare bathroom. But the pièce de résistance were the two exquisite ocean view master bedrooms, one on the second floor, the other on the third. Each contained a king-size bed, two nightstands, a couch, a desk with a chair, a chest of drawers, 42-inch television, a DVD player, a gigantic master bathroom with a whirlpool garden tub, and a sundeck with a two-person hot tub.

Looking at our surroundings, I wished we had made reservations for longer than a weekend. It would be quite easy to lose myself in a place like this. Compared to our own private hell, this house was definitely the little slice of heaven we both needed.

After fawning over the house, getting unpacked, and settled in, the first thing we did was look for something to eat. We were starving, and Gabby got a little funky in the attitude area if she didn't eat when her body called for it. So after some Internet surfing, we settled on trying Sundae Café. It was a family-owned restaurant that catered to the romantic side of things for dinner, but their lunch specials looked mouthwatering as well.

The outside of the place was a plain brown brick building with a simple red and white sign boasting its name. The inside was nothing to write home about either. Brown wooden chairs sat against mocha-colored carpet with black-and-white checkered tablecloths on square tables. And the bar area looked as if the wood needed to be repolished. Other than that, the place had a very friendly and welcoming atmosphere.

I kept it simple and ordered fish and grits with coleslaw, hush puppies, and a drink. Gabby settled on the Smokehouse turkey burger with Carolina BBQ sauce, applewood bacon, and crispy onions. We took our food to go so we could enjoy our lunch on the sundeck overlooking the beautiful beach.

The deck was gated from the side, but you could see the white sandy beach and see the waves wash ashore. The water in the pool looked warm and inviting, but we didn't want to get in yet.

“So, now what?” I asked after we finished stuffing ourselves. “What should we get into first?”

“I figure tomorrow we can get up early and check out the activities for the festival. I printed some stuff out we may want to do,” Gabby said as she walked inside to grab her laptop, then walked back out.

Gabby had always been one who had to have everything planned to the last dotted I and crossed T; otherwise, she wouldn't be able to function. I nodded as I stood and walked to look over the gate. Everything seemed so peaceful. Seagulls flew overhead. I could hear a woman's flirty laughter in the distance. Looking down, I saw her being chased by a man with an even bigger grin on his face. I smiled at the love in the air. It made me miss my husband and kids.

I felt my emotions taking over again. Just thinking about the way my husband had behaved was enough to make my eyes water. I glanced back at Gabby to make sure she wasn't watching me. Luckily, she was on her laptop looking at something. I knew Gabby had brought me here to take my mind off of things, but I couldn't help but think if I had caused Malik to cheat on me. I wondered if I could have been a better wife or something. Anything that would tell me why my husband would cheat on me, in our home.

What kind of man would disrespect his wife and kids like that? I didn't get it. Didn't understand the method to his madness. How did we get to this point?

“I'm going to use the restroom right quick,” I told Gabby.

She looked up with a smile, then nodded before going back to clicking away on her laptop. I walked through the spacious kitchen, bypassed the bathroom, and then headed to get my cell. As soon as I picked it up, the bottom of my stomach fell out. Malik had called me four times. I wasn't sure I was even ready to talk to him, to be honest. What would I say?

I pressed the call button by his number and waited. Those four rings seemed to be the longest I'd ever waited. With each ring, my heart swelled under my rib cage. Before I'd left to go to the airport, Malik and I had been fighting like enemies instead of husband and wife. I screamed and yelled. He yelled and became defensive, refusing to answer my demands to know why. Why would he do this to me?

I didn't understand it, and I didn't ever think I would. How could he leave our home and go play house with a woman he barely even knew? We had eight years,
eight
fucking years under our belts! We had two damn kids! How dare he do this to me—to us! As the phone rang, the tears I tried to keep at bay angrily rolled down my burning cheeks.

Why had he called me? Did he want to try to fix our marriage? Was I
willing
to fix our marriage? What would he say to me when he answered the phone? When Malik was mad, he had the tendency to be venomous with his words. He could make me feel lower than low with his verbal assaults. To be honest, I could be a firecracker with words too, but at this point, I just didn't have any fire left in me. I was broken.

Malik didn't answer.

I ran a hand through my braids as I sighed. I didn't know what to do besides try to call him back later. I laid my phone down and thought back, trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong. Things had been tight financially as of late. To be honest, if Gabby hadn't been covering the cost of food while here, I'd probably be assed out. I'd squeezed enough money from my financial aid to cover the cost of rooming.

That was why I had enough to help with gas for the drive with a little left over. Anyone who'd ever been in a long-term relationship or marriage knew what it was to have a financial strain come in and wreak havoc. Still, I'd been the ever-dutiful wife. I did everything in my power to help my husband stand. He didn't want me to work outside the home, so I made sure to stay in school so I could get those refund checks.

I made sure to write until my fingers ached so I could get advances and royalty checks. And I only got a royalty check if the publishing gods saw fit to be nice to me that quarter. Most people would think being a traditionally published author meant you had made it. I was here to tell them their thought process was a delusion. The car note had fallen behind last month. Electricity was threatened to be cut off. Car insurance had expired. We had been in a real bind. So my refund check from school had come right on time. Shit, I still owed Gabby at least $800 from when she had helped me out months before.

The fights about money and bills had been never-ending. The sex was barely there, and when it was, I was left so unfulfilled that it had started to feel like I was letting Mister climb on top of me and handle his business.

As I was walking back down the stairs, Gabby was coming up. She had a big smile on her face so I plastered one on mine too. I didn't want to bring her mood down.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

I lied. “Yeah, after I used the bathroom, I wanted to talk to the kids. Make sure they were okay. You good?” I asked with faux jubilance. “Daniel isn't call stalking you, is he?”

She waved and laughed heartily. “Girl, no. But listen, I was looking up the nightlife around here and found this jazz spot called The Treble Cleft.”

“Why, when you say cleft, I think of Michael Jackson's chin?” I asked with mock seriousness.

She chuckled as we both headed back down. “You're so foolish. I was coming up to see if you'd be up for a night on the town. And don't say no either. I can see that frown forming on your face and a ready-made excuse on your lips,” she quipped with a laugh. “You need this, Shell . . .”

“Gabby, you know I don't do clubs,” I whined.

“This isn't one of those kinds of clubs. It's a jazz club. Mature setting and atmosphere. Not that jump-around-N-word-throwing-pants-sagging-booty-clapping-type place.”

I was chuckling so hard that she could barely finish talking for laughing too. We walked to the front room. While she grabbed her laptop to show me the club, I opened the glass sliding door so some of the cool breeze could saunter in. Gabby kicked off her shoes, then folded her legs underneath her as she sat on the chocolate couch.

The décor of the room had a chic feel. The blue and cream-toned color scheme consisted of teal, aquamarine, turquoise, sapphire, egg shell, ecru, and splatters of off-white. The main walls were cream, while an accent wall was teal. The picture on the accent wall encouraged us to live, laugh, and love in black lettering, while the backdrop boasted of dark and light blue with specks of white.

I plopped down beside Gabby and looked at the website for The Treble Cleft on her laptop. I had to admit, the place looked lively from the photos posted. People were all smiles and laughs as they danced and snapped their fingers. A mixture of races and ages dressed in cosmopolitan attire decorated the pages. The establishment tooted its own horn by calling itself “The place for grown folk to be.” I was shocked to see it also had a five-star restaurant. So we'd be able to eat well and enjoy good music.

“Tonight, it says a band by the name of Roses is opening up for Something For The People,” she told me.

“Oh my gosh! You mean the old nineties group?” I asked, trying to keep the cheer in my voice I didn't really feel.

“You got it.”

We both broke out into a chorus of their old song. Hands in the air and snapping fingers alike. For the next few minutes, we kept scrolling through the website. Checked out their social network footprint. After a while, we decided that it was the place for us to be. While Gabby spoke of her excitement, as much as I tried to stop it, my emotions got the better of me again.

“Oh my God,” I muttered.

“What?” Gabby asked, looking up from the laptop.

“It just hit me . . . that my marriage is quite possibly over.”

She saw my tears, and the empathy she had for me showed on her as she frowned and reached out to hug me. “I'm so sorry, Shell. I really am.”

I broke down. “I know you want to say I told you so—”

“No, no. Absolutely not. I'm not here to beat you down any more than you already are. You cry, Shell. Cry for as long as you want. Get it all out, baby.”

Gabby sat there and rocked me back and forth in her arms like I was her child. She didn't judge me. Didn't say anything. She just held me, and I cried for my marriage. Shed tears for my children who could quite possibly lose their two-parent home. I cried for the loss of my best friend, my husband who I never saw leaving me. I never would have thought Malik would have walked away from our marriage or our children. I didn't know the man Malik was right now.

After a long while, I dried my tears. “I'm sorry,” I told Gabby. “I don't mean to suck the life out of this weekend.”

“It's okay, girl. Go ahead and get it out now. It's best you don't keep it in,” she assured me. “But, what I want you to do is, go upstairs, get dressed, and let me try to take your mind off your adulterous husband and that streetwalker he cheated on you with.”

I gave a light chuckle, even though I didn't want to. I nodded. “Okay.”

* * *

I got up and headed upstairs. As I showered and took care of my hygiene regimen in solace, Gabby was in her room, no doubt getting dolled up. I decided to wear wide-legged black slacks that hugged my hips, along with a sheer black blouse which tapered to my waist. Underneath was a black push-up bra showcasing my D-cup breasts. I donned silver accessories to set off my ensemble. Black and silver six-inch pumps elongated my legs and thighs. I pulled my long braids up into a high bun. No makeup and a bit of plum lip gloss finished the look.

I know it seemed plain, but I loved what I saw when I looked in the mirror, especially since I normally hated looking at myself. I turned side to side and smiled despite my sullen mood. I was all set to go. We were leaving early since the show was set to start at eight. We wanted to get good seats and be close to the small dance floor in case we decided to cut a rug.

Once dressed, I decided to go downstairs and wait for Gabby. I flipped the channels on the TV, paying close attention to the weather.

“While the Black Heritage Festival continues this weekend, a bout of bad weather may halt all outside activities,”
the local meteorologist informed me,
“and thunderstorms and scattered showers are set to roll in later on tonight, then taper off until late tomorrow afternoon. So keep those umbrellas and ponchos ready . . .”

I looked up as I heard Gabby coming down the stairs.

“Wow,” I said with a smile. “Look at you!”

She had on a lavender spaghetti-strapped dress that stopped midthigh, showing off the time she spent in the gym and at home working out. The low V-cut made her breasts look inviting. She was a little lax in the hips department, but her ass more than made up for it, which was why the hem of the dress swooshed and swayed as she Naomi Campbell walked into the front room. Teardrop diamond earrings dangled from her ears. A matching choker and bracelet sat out on her brown skin like beacons. She had on four-inch heels that accentuated her calves and thighs. The cuffs around the ankles sparkled with faux diamonds, making her appear runway ready. She asked me to pin a few of her locs up before we'd gotten dressed. While some had been left to hang down in the back, most were up into a neat bun with a few shorter ones hanging like spirals around her face.

Gabby did a little spin and asked, “Well, what do you think?”

“I think I'm overdressed,” I said with a laugh.

She smiled. “What am I going to have to do to get you in a dress?”

“Get me in a gym so I can lose these thunder thighs.”

We both laughed, but I was serious. Being a size sixteen wasn't a bad thing when you had been a size sixteen all your life. But I hadn't been. I went from being a size four to a size eight to a size twelve to a size sixteen, thanks to years of stress, bad eating, and having kids. My self-esteem was about as high as grass that had been freshly mowed.

“I don't know why you're so hard on yourself. The weight can be lost, but your self-esteem can't be bought. You have to cut that out. You look good, and you carry your weight well. It's not like you look like a popped can of biscuits.”

We both had a good laugh at that one. It didn't take us long to get to the club. About twenty-five minutes with traffic. We paid to park, then walked the short distance to the place. The weather was a little hot and muggy, which attested to the rain the meteorologist had spoken about earlier. People were out in droves. Some headed to the club. Others headed to other places around. Good thing we'd decided to get there early. There was already a line at the door. That took us about another fifteen minutes.