Authors: Dwayne S. Joseph
Eye for an Eye (9 page)
19
She was late.
The meeting was supposed to have been for three o'clock, at her home, but the meeting place was changed last minute to Starbucks. It was now twenty minutes to four. Aida took an angry sip of her iced caramel Frappuccino and set the cup down hard. It was hot and humid outside. Ninety degrees, but with the humidity it felt like ninety-five. It was the kind of mid-July weather Aida loved. Hot sun, high temperatures accompanied by humidity that clung to the skin like a sleepy child demanding to be held. Most people hid when the weather was like this. They stayed indoors bathing in air conditioning or locked in their cars doing the same, burning gas. They didn't want to sweat or mess up their hair.
But Aida didn't mind at all.
She liked the heat. She liked the cotton-thick humidity. Her hair was long, hung down to the middle of her back, but she never cared about it getting messy. She had no problem with sweat. Truth be told, there was something sexy about it to her. On the days when the heat index was high, Aida wore as little as possible. Short shorts. Tank, tube or bikini tops. Flip-flops, never sneakers. She wanted as much of her skin as legally and morally, possible to be exposed to the heat. She liked when sweat ran down her body. She felt it added to her sex appeal.
She wanted to be out in the heat now, enjoying the day, enjoying the ogling that she always got. Her occupation afforded her a lifestyle in which she didn't have to be stuck slaving away in an office as a peon or standing on her feet eight hours a day working retail somewhere. Her occupation gave her freedom from having to deal with bullshit.
Today she should have been out, sweating, getting tan, but instead she was sitting at a square table that wobbled, wearing a chic red blouse, a pair of stretch jeans, and black pumps, sipping on a Frappuccino, waiting for another desperate housewife in need, who couldn't show up for her fucking appointment on time.
Aida took another swallow of her drink, slammed the cup down again, and then pushed her chair back.
“Fuck this shit.”
Patience had never been a friend of hers. She'd waited long enough. Vivian Steele would just have to deal with the bullshit until she was ready for helpâif ever.
“Aida?”
Aida was just about to rise out of her chair. She looked up to see a pair of apologetic, almond-shaped, brown eyes staring down at her. Aida looked her over. Attractive with thin lips, a slender but pronounced nose, shoulder-length brown hair with blond highlights, and bronze-colored skin from overtanning. Her upper torso was thick, but curvaceous. She was a B cup, with wide hips and short, thick legs. She looked Greek or Italian. Aida couldn't tell which.
Aida said, “Yes?”
The woman put her hand to her chest. A gaudy wedding ring encrusted with diamonds glinted in the café's light. “I'm Vivian Steele. We have an appointment.”
“Yes . . . for three o'clock,” Aida said, refusing to conceal her annoyance.
Vivian nodded. “Please forgive me for being late. My husband had a last-minute trip and needed to have some shirts ironed. It took longer than I thought it would.”
Aida scowled slightly. She'd set up a meeting to have her unfaithful husband trapped, yet she was bending over backwards to iron his goddamned shirts.
Idiot
, Aida thought.
, Aida thought.
She said, “No problem.”
Vivian Steele sat down. “Have you been here long?”
“Since three o'clock.”
Vivian looked at her watch. It too was riddled with diamonds. It looked very expensive. She frowned. “I'm sorry,” she said again. “I'm usually not one to run behind.”
“It's fine,” Aida said. “I usually give clients a thirty-minute grace period anyway.”
“Thanks for giving me an extra ten minutes.”
Aida nodded.
Vivian stared at her long and hard for a few seconds. It was intense and made Aida slightly uncomfortable, though she didn't really know why.
“You're Puerto Rican?” Vivian asked.
“Yes,” Aida answered, wondering what that had to do with anything.
“I can tell by the accent. And your looks, of course. I've been there a couple of times. Beautiful island. Were you born there?”
“Yes,” Aida answered curtly.
“I've thought about living there. Had to be great to have grown up there.”
“I moved to New York when I was four.”
“Oh.”
Aida cleared her throat. “So, tell me why you're here.” It was time to get down to business. Enough of the small talk.
Vivian sighed. “My husband, Griffin, he . . . he . . .”
“He . . . ?”
Vivian sighed again. “He's unfaithful. Well . . . he's having an affair.”
Aida nodded. “And how do you know this?”
“I found text messages and pictures in his phone. He was taking a shower when a text came through. His phone's usually off. He has two cell phones. One is for personal use. The other is for business. He travels a lot, working for the government. His business phone is for international calls. When he's home, which is once or maybe twice a month, he usually has it off and just uses the personal one. I don't know why he had it on this day. Well . . . I do know why.”
“What did the texts say?” Aida asked. It wasn't really pertinent information that she needed. She was just being nosy.
Vivian frowned again. “It said âHi, sexy. I'm missing you and those kisses of yours already. Hurry back here.'” Vivian paused and dug into her purse, a Coach bag, and removed a travel pack of tissues. She pulled one out and blotted her eyes, which had begun to water. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I swore I wasn't going to cry. After I saw the text, I went through the phone and found pictures of him with another female. I think she's from the Philippines. He goes there a lot. In some of the pictures, they were kissing.”
Aida nodded. “And did you confront him?”
Vivian shook her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
Vivian dabbed at her eyes again. “I . . . I don't know.”
“So what did you do with what you found?”
“Unfortunately I never got a chance to do anything.”
“Why not?”
“Before I could even think about what to do, he turned the shower off. I panicked and closed the phone and put it back down where it was quickly before he came out of the bathroom.”
“OK. And did you get another chance to go through the phone after that?”
Vivian nodded. “I did.”
“And?”
“And the pictures and texts were all gone.”
“Did you check the phone completely?”
“Yes. The inbox, the outbox, the draft folder. Everything was gone. Well, everything not work-related.”
“And you never said anything to him?”
“No.”
Aida shook her head. She never understood women like Vivian. “So basically, you have no proof that your husband has been cheating?”
Vivian frowned. “No.”
“My associate says you think he's been cheating on you for a few years.”
“Yes.”
“Have you found pictures or texts before?”
Vivian shook her head. “No. This was the first time. But I've smelled other women on him. Well, other women's perfume. And I've found strands of hair that were completely different from mine.”
“And you've never called him out before?”
“No.”
Aida gave Vivian a hard look of disapproval mixed with disgust. She wasn't supposed to show her clients that she thought they were fools for allowing themselves to be disrespected. She was supposed to keep her expression impartial. But she couldn't help it. Her mother dealt with bullshit and disrespect and so did her sister. She was damned if she'd deal with it too.
“What are you here for, Vivian?” she asked, her tone curt.
“I . . . I want you to set Griffin up.”
“Are you looking to divorce him?”
“No.”
“Are you seeing someone else? In other words, are you looking to have something to hold over his head so that you can be free to do what you want with who you want?”
Vivian shook her head. “No,” she answered again.
“Then what are you looking for exactly? If not divorce or a fuck-who-you-want pass, what is it you're looking to accomplish?”
Vivian wrung her hands as her eyebrowsâtoo thin from over-pluckingâbunched together. “I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
Aida rolled her eyes and let out a breath of air filled with irritation.
Vivian frowned and wiped at her eyes with her tissue again. “I love my husband,” she said.
“OK.”
“I don't want to leave him.”
“Ok. So you'd rather be his fool?”
“No.”
“You're not looking for a divorce and you're not looking for something to hold over him. Vivian . . . you called us.”
Vivian crumpled up her tissue. “I know. I just . . .”
“You just what?”
“I love him, despite what he's done.”
“Yes, you've made that clear.”
Vivian sighed and grabbed a fresh tissue from her pack. She wiped her eyes and then looked at Aida. “I . . .” She paused, clenched her jaw, and shook her head.
“Yes?” Aida said, the pitch in her voice indicating to Vivian that she felt as though her time was being wasted.
“I can't leave Griffin.”
Aida closed her eyes a bit. “Why not?”
Vivian's shoulders slumped. “I haven't worked in over four years. The last job I had was working for a cleaning company. I have no other experience to put on a resume, and I never went to college. I hate to admit it, but I need to stay with Griffin. I need the security that he provides.”
She stopped speaking and wiped at her eyes again. Aida sat back in her chair and tried her best to not tell Vivian how pathetic she was with her eyes and body language. She wasn't very successful. She looked at her and thought about her mother and sister, and countless other women she knew who were just as pitiful. Just as dependant.
Thank God for Lisette
, she thought.
, she thought.
“Are you sure you should be here, Vivian?”
Vivian nodded and wiped her eyes yet again. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I need your help. I need you to help me save my marriage.”
“Save your marriage?”
“Yes. You asked me if I wanted to have something to hold over his head.”
“Yeah.”
“I . . . I guess I do, because I want you to provide proof that he's cheating, or at least that he would cheat.”
“And this is going to save you marriage how?”
“I'll use the proof to force him to go to marriage counseling.”
“And that's going to save your marriage? That's going to solve your problems?”
“Yes. It has to.”
“And what if it doesn't? What if the counseling doesn't work and he still fucks around on you? Or what if he says he won't go to counseling?”
Vivian shook her head. “He won't say no.”
“How do you know? A lot of men refuse.”
“I've been with Griffin since before he started making the money he's making. He wouldn't want to give me half of what he earns. Plus, everyone in his family is married or has been forever. Griffin hates to fail. Failing at marriage wouldn't be an option for him.”
Aida took a sip of her Frappuccino and then wiped her lips with the back of her hand. She looked at Vivian for a long second, then said, “Do you have a picture of your husband?”
Vivian nodded, reached into her Coach bag, pulled out a 5x7 glossy photo, and handed it to her.
Aida took it and looked at the photo and felt herself get warm. Griffin, wearing a black tank top and shorts, was damn sexy. Bald head, chocolate skin, wide shoulders, and thick arms. His chest seemed to be well defined, and she figured he had a six pack hidden beneath the top. Damn sexy. Looked like he could fuck. Aida licked her lips, then said, “OK. How would you want this done?”
“I want to walk in on him about to have sex with you.”
“About to, as in . . . ?”
“As in I want both of you to be naked and on the bed. But I don't want you doing anything.”
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