Fly on the Wall (18 page)

“No,” she said quickly. “This all resurfaced while we were in Palm Beach. We ran into a couple who mentioned visiting Cancun the same weekend that Melinda and Fred went.”

“So, they're swingers?”

“Have to be,” she said. “Later that night, all Marcus cared to talk about was how he'd love to see me riding the guy while he has his dick in his wife's mouth.”

I was in shock. “You're kidding?”

“Nope.”

I frowned. “That's not normal, Toni. Black people don't do shit like that.”

“That's a lie. There are a lot of black swingers out there, trust me.” She poured another round and continued. “Marcus thinks that is a way to test the strength of a relationship, have fun, and keep things sexually interesting.”

“Buy handcuffs, a dildo, anal beads, or edible undies to keep stuff interesting. Don't cheat.”

“Doing it this way isn't cheating, so
he
says.”

“Bullshit. Doing it that way is the polite way of saying that you want to have sex with other people.” I added, “That's not healthy.”

“Yeah,” she said weakly.

“You're thinking about it, aren't you?”

“I truly don't know.” Toni's puzzled look said it all. “Okay, I know that he has probably not been faithful over the years, and God knows that I've thought of messing around, so neither of us is perfect, but how am I supposed to watch him have sex with other women?”

Marcus is a handsome guy, and from the tidbits of information I gathered from Toni, he took advanced placement courses in Long, Hard, and Rough, majored in All Night Pleasure, and minored in Vaginal Buffet. With that said, if they tried the swingers' scene, any woman who got a piece of him
would
come back for more, and it might just be without Toni's knowledge.

“At first when you said that he mentioned it, I thought he was just bringing it up to test your limits. You know how men do that shit.”

“I thought so too, and that's why I played with the idea. I was actually trying to make him jealous.” She smiled. “I just wanted to see what he would say.”

“Surprised the mess out of you, huh?” I cracked up.

“When he told me that he had called Fred and told him that we were open to it, I nearly died, but the part that really got me was when Melinda came over to talk to me about it. I wanted to throw up.”

“What did she have to say?”

“She said that years ago they never thought or talked about doing it. They actually thought, just as we do, that it was unhealthy for relationships, and that people who participated in it were just looking for an excuse to do their thing,” Toni carried on. “They went to Cancun on vacation and just happened to be staying at the same hotel where the black swingers were gathering that year. She said that they were sitting in the restaurant eating when another couple, who assumed they were with the group, approached and asked if they could join them for lunch. They thought nothing of it. In the middle of the meal, right in front of Fred, the guy starts telling her how he could see that her nipples were hard through her shirt. Before Fred could comment, the man's wife was rubbing Fred's thigh and other things through his shorts. They hung out in the restaurant for a few hours, had a bunch of drinks, and went back to the couple's room.”

“Wow.” The story turned me on a bit . . . just a little bit. “I wish I could've been a fly on the wall in that room.”

“Melinda said that she wouldn't have given it a second thought outside of the situation. As a matter of fact, she said that they had even tried to find another hotel when they first checked in and learned of it, but when the guy started flirting with her in front of Fred, it did something, flipped a switch.”

“Do you think your switch can be flipped?”

“It'll flip me the hell out.” She laughed and then the room fell silent. “Let's talk about something else.”

“Like what?”

She looked up toward Heaven. “Lord, forgive me for asking questions about an eighteen-year-old,” she paused, “but how is the sex?”

After giggling, I had only one explanation for how good Theo was. “Do you have R. Kelly's
TP-2
CD?”

“Yeah.” She tried to figure out the relationship. “Why?”

“Sex with him is like song number six.”

She thought a while. “‘Just Like That'?”

“Just like that.”

“Shit,” she pouted. “I'm jealous.”

“Don't be.” It didn't take me any time to come up with a reason. “We can't even be in public together.”

“Yeah, but at least he's not a freak that wants you to have sex with other people in front of him.”

“Yeah, but other people would freak if they found out that I was having sex with him,” I said.

“Yeah, 'cause his momma is going to scrub the floor with you.”

 

 

I wasn't surprised when I pulled onto my street and saw Theo leaning up against the side of my house. Ever since that night when someone followed me home, he knew to park his car behind the house.

I was still in Toni's living room when my cell phone rang. “Hey, Ms. Patrick.” He called me that whenever he was starved for my attention.

I greeted him. “Hi, how are you?” Toni planted her narrow butt next to mine and slammed her ear up against the phone to eavesdrop.

He flirted. “I'm cool, but I need help with my homework.”

“I didn't issue any this weekend.”

“I'm not talking about English. Another subject.”

“Oh?” I was blushing. “What subject is it?”

“I have this problem that I just can't figure out.” He went on. “I think I know how to solve it, but I'm not sure. I wanted to check it with you.”

“Okay, tell me about the quandary.”

“The dilemma is that I'm over here missing the hell out of you.”

I grinned. “So, what's the solution?”

“That's the thing.” He was smooth. “I think I can solve the problem by coming over around seven.” He asked, “Will you be home?”

At this point, we had been involved for two months, and all weekend long I fought calling him. I vowed to myself that I would go forty-eight hours without. He was now like a drug in my system, and I craved him constantly. I would steal stuff from my family and friends and sell it to others for next to nothing if it meant having me a little piece of Theo. When he wasn't around for prolonged periods, I shivered, sweat, and thought about what I needed to say or do to get him there right away. Like I said, he was now like a drug in my system. I craved him constantly.

It was 6:54
P.M.
when I put my car in park. I was giddy for this boy, silly for this guy, absolutely crazy about this man, and once within the confines of my house, we were all hands, lips, and tongue from the doorway to the living room to the corridor, and that's as far as we made it.

We handled business in the hallway. The frosty cold tile pressed up against my boiling skin was more erotic than an ice cube traveling from my nipples to my stomach. The thought of Fred and Melinda's first Cancun escapade snuck into my mind and sent me into convulsions quickly, but Theo sent me back there over and over again.

“Something happened today,” Theo said as I sat nestled between his long legs in my bathtub, which was filled to the brim with warm water and bubbles as a lone candle flickered from the toilet top.

“Huh?” I looked back at him, worried. “Something like what?”

“I woke up this morning and mowed the lawn without being asked, just so that I could keep myself from calling you.” He pulled me closer to him. “In church, my phone was on vibrate, and I kept checking it to see if I had missed calls from you.” He kissed my neck. “I wanted to hear from you so badly.”

I couldn't be here in the house alone without calling him. “I know. I felt the same way today.” I did every day, which was how I ended up at Toni's. I wanted to prove to myself that I had our situation under control.... Look at me now, between his legs. “I couldn't wait to see you.”

“I'm convinced.” He took a deep breath. “You got roots on me.”

I turned to him and piled a handful of suds atop his head and finished it off with a kiss. “It's not called roots.”

“What is it then?” His wet hands ran over my stomach and down to my thighs.

“I can't tell you. You have to figure that out by yourself.” I added, “That's your homework assignment.”

He took a deep breath and giggled. “You got roots on a brotha.”

I knew what he was feeling. “You got roots on me too.” I knew just what he meant.

“That must be the pizza.”

I stood up in the tub, booty all in his face. He smacked it hard. “Ouch,” I whined.

“Sorry.” He was such a clown. “I got excited about the pizza.”

I dried off quickly. “I can't believe you got me eating this shit.”

“Don't even try it. You had Papa John's number on speed dial.” He stretched out as I threw on my robe and ran out of the room. “I'll be out there in a minute,” he said.

“I'm coming!” I yelled while grabbing my purse and sprinting down the corridor. “One second,” I said as I stood in front of the door and tied the sash of my robe. Couldn't let the pizza boy get a peek.

“Okay,” I said and opened the door, still fishing through my purse for my wallet.

“Paige, we have to talk.” Craig was standing on my welcome mat.

“Well, I—” I was about to pee on myself.

“Can I come in?” he asked while ushering himself into the house without me waiting for an answer. “This won't take very long. I was in the area and I just wanted to be the one to tell you this before it gets to you in the wrong way.”

A woman cannot hear those words and think logically. That's the nosy part of our brain, which accounts for a third of it. The other one fourth of my brain wanted to return to the bathroom and warn Theo, but the urgency in Craig's tone told me that there was news, drama, gossip, and I wanted to know. “What?”

“Well,” he paused, “Cindy is two months pregnant.”

“Cindy who?” I must have needed my ears checked. “Cindy Thompson?”

“Yeah.”

“Pregnant by whom?”

The look on his face said it all. “She's pregnant.”

I couldn't believe this asshole. “You said that that stuff about you two was all lies, rumors . . .” Why did I believe him anyway? “You are such a—”

“I know, I know, but at the time, I didn't know any of this.”

Craig was like a crack head. You had to be careful what he told you because chances were if you walked around the corner fast enough, he had already told three other people three completely different stories. Cindy Thompson was a Caucasian woman, tall, blonde, and a secretary in the main office. I saw them having lunch together a few times, but he swore on his grandfather's mother's daughter's grave that her brother had season tickets to the Miami Heat and he was just trying to see Shaq in black. He denied even being attracted to her, called her trailer trash and all.

“So, why did I
need
to know this?”

He sighed. “She was tripping about me coming in late last night. She thinks I'm up to something . . .”

“Coming in late?” I was too far gone. “You're living with her?”

“She's living with me,” he clarified.

“You bastard.” The words flew out of me.

Astonished, he said, “Don't call me that.”

“Okay. You're not a bastard,” I said sarcastically. “You're just a pathetic fuckin'—”

Craig interrupted. “She thinks that I was with you, so she's threatening to call you.”

“Oh yeah?” I huffed. “I wish she would call my goddamn house.”

“I just wanted to let you in on it.”

“Let me in?” I looked him up and down and frowned. “Well, let her in on this. Tell her that I don't give a damn! Did you tell her that?” He seemed surprised that I wasn't crying or screaming. “If you didn't, then maybe you need to.” I grimaced. “Whatever happens between you two is none of my business, and I never want it to be. I don't want her calling me, coming to my class, or coming here with any bullshit.”

“Yeah, but being my ex-wife—”

“Ex-wife is right.” I continued, “I'm not your wife. We have nothing. I don't care that she's pregnant.” I actually did care, but I continued nevertheless. “Do you think that I owe you a month-by-month report if I got pregnant?” I was upset and hoped I didn't sound like it. “No, it's my life.”