Fly on the Wall (6 page)

“I'm sorry. I'm just a little out of it.” I was.

“Is it a headache?”

“Yes,” I lied and tore my eyes away from her chest.

“Would you like something for it?”

“Yes.” I heard that breast milk does a body good. “What do you have?”

“Tylenol,” she spoke softly, “but it has to be our secret. I'm not supposed to supply students with drugs.”

“Well, I won't tell,” I whispered back, “if you promise to go easy on the homework.”

She grinned. “No can do.” Then she added, “But I'll let you off of the hook for your lack of participation in class today.”

“Sorry.” I frowned as I thought of my reason for being in detention. “It's just been one of those days.”

Ms. Patrick started walking in my direction. “Child, please. You don't have a car note, rent, or a utility bill.” She smiled. “Until you have bills to pay, you don't have anything to be worked up about.” She placed the red-and-yellow capsules in my hand and rested an unopened bottle of water on my desk. “Wanna trade places?”

“Thank you,” I said. “I'd rather try to pay your bills than go through what I'm going through.”

“Sounds serious.” Her facial expression showed concern. “Is everything all right?” She sat down at a desk next to me.

I didn't know what to say or if I should say anything. “I just got some bad news.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” Her hand flew up to her mouth like she expected me to say that someone died. What she'd find hard to believe is that
I
was the corpse. I felt like I died when I heard what Trese had to say.

“Would you like to talk about it?” she asked.

“It's nothing tragic.” I shifted in my seat and stared down at the desk. “I may have just screwed something up for myself.”

Ms. Patrick went on without knowing my problem. “Theodore, a lot of times we make decisions, and just because the result isn't something that we expected, we consider it a mistake.” I wasn't looking at her, but I heard the smile in her voice. “Nothing happens without purpose.” She reached over and quickly patted me on the shoulder. “So whatever it is, just know that in the end it could have a meaning that'll blow your mind.”

“I don't know about that, but thanks anyway.” I smiled, though I couldn't see how there could ever be a bright light at the end of my tunnel. “Thanks.”

She chuckled like someone was tickling her. “Anytime.” She sat back in the chair like she planned on sitting there awhile, which made me relax. “However, Theodore, if you feel that the situation you're going through is one that you can live without learning from, then do your best to avoid it in the future.”

“I have a question for you, Paige,” I said.

“Excuse me!” She pushed my head playfully with her index finger. “Who told you that you could call me Paige?”

“Who told you that you could call me Theodore?” I laughed. “Ms. Patrick, please call me Theo.”

“I will when you start coming to class on time.”

“Come on,” I begged. “It takes less energy to say Theo.”

“I'm not looking for an easy way out.” She smiled. “Maybe I like it the hard way.”

Being a man, I took her statement and ran with it. I was tempted to respond with something like, “I like it the hard way too,” but I held back.

She stood up. “I'll think about it.” I checked her out from the back and was extremely pleased. Her navy skirt hugged her hips, and I found myself wishing I were a stitch in the fabric. Other than Halle Berry, Angela Bassett, and the thing I have for Oprah, Ms. Patrick was another older woman who was now on my “would do” list. She was tight work.

“Hey, sexy, are we sweatin' today?” the new math teacher said as he walked through the door. He quickly covered his mouth when he noticed that she wasn't alone. “I'm very sorry.”

“Hello,” she said.

He looked at me through the sides of his eyes. “So, I guess we're not doing it today either, huh?”

“No.” She looked over at me. “He has to be here for an hour, plus I was supposed to help Toni with the food.”

“Damn.” He thought he was whispering. “I wanted to see you in those shorts.” I felt like the third and fourth wheel. I opened my textbook and pretended to be reading something . . . anything, but when they weren't looking at me, I was peeping at them.

She blushed. “So, how was your day?”

“It was cool. My first set of quizzes went over well.”

“Good.” She looked like she was faking her smile.

There was an awkward amount of silence before he asked, “Are you cold?”

“No. Why, are you?”

“I'm not complaining, but . . .” He stared directly at her chest. “It sure looks like you are.”

She gazed downward, humiliated, and snatched her jacket from the back of the chair. “Thanks.” I knew that she would've preferred he didn't make such a statement in my meager presence. Now she probably knew why I was staring at her so much.

She walked away from him to unplug the projector and he asked, “So, what time am I picking you up tonight?”

She answered quickly in a whisper, “I thought we'd just meet there.”

“Naw, I can pick you up so that later—”

She interrupted him and shook her head. “Doran, I still have a student here. Let's talk about this in about an hour.”

“Oh, okay.” He finally caught on. “No problem.”

“All right.” She walked him to the door. “I'll see you later.”

When the mathematician was out of sight, I wasted no time teasing her. “Ms. Patrick has a boyfriend, huh?”

“Mind your business.” She blushed. “Mr. Bess is my workout partner.”

“It don't sound like y'all gonna be working out tonight,” I joked. “What's that all about?”

She smiled. “If I call you Theo and let you leave right now instead of in forty-five minutes, will you not mention this to anyone?”

“I can see where that is a possibility.” I was willing to negotiate.

“You're dismissed, Theo.”

“Thank you.” I gathered my things.

“Have a great weekend.”

“I heard the math teacher plottin',” I teased, “so don't do anything that I wouldn't do.”

“You are too silly, Theo.” She smacked me lightly on the arm. “Get out of here.”

I smiled all the way out the door then ran downstairs and into the locker room. I was only twenty minutes late to practice, but to Coach J. that was just like not showing up. I pulled off my Rocawear gear and with no hesitation jumped into my gym clothes and hit the hardwood floor with my signature yell.

“What time is it, W. D.?” Normally my teammates would scream, “Game time,” but Coach J. was still going over yesterday's practice. The look he gave me said that I would probably have twenty-five more pushups and crunches than the rest of the team, but the added exercise was all right with me. I needed to do something with my bottled up aggression.

I joined the team and listened to Coach, but my mind just wouldn't process anything he said. Trese's news was like a ghost. It was haunting me, and this was just phase one. She wasn't going to make things easy for me. I could already imagine her with a big stomach at the home games, holding up stupid signs or booing me while I was at the free-throw line. I had seen it done to other players by baby mommas and ex-girlfriends. “Damn it,” I said to myself.

“All right, boys,” Coach yelled. “Let's get on the ball.” He read from his clipboard. “Twenty-five sit-ups, pushups, crunches, and lunges.” He flipped the page. “And let me get four suicides before we go into lay-up drill.” He blew his whistle and we all knew what to do.

I tried to walk by him, but he grabbed my elbow. “Where you been?”

“I had to stay late with Ms. Patrick.”

With the mention of her name, his eyes lit up, but he played it off well. He had to regret not being with her now. If he didn't, then that meant that he had someone better, and I didn't see how that was possible. “Why did you get a detention?”

“I was late.” I answered his next question before he even asked. “A li'l diarrhea.” I whispered the lie.

“Ah, man.” He jokingly stepped away from me. “All right, Shitty Gonzalez, don't let anything loose when you doing them sit-ups.”

“I'll try.” I started walking away. “You got some extra trunks just in case?”

“Hell Naw.” He laughed. “You better tighten them ass muscles.”

I ran away, screaming, “What time is it, W.D.?”

“Game time.”

“Man, I can't hear y'all.”

“Game time!”

“What time?”

“Game time!” We all hit the floor and started counting off our crunches. “One, two, three, four, five . . .” Somewhere around the ninth crunch, I glanced over at Coach J. He was staring blankly up into the rafters, and somehow I felt as though we were thinking about the same thing: Ms. Patrick's nipples.

“A
ll right, now I'm starting to think that you just want to hear my voice.” I smiled into the phone as I clipped on my earrings. “My directions can't be that bad.” Doran had already called three times for help navigating his way to my house.

“Hmmm.” He cleared his throat. “It used to be mine, so of course I know my way to the house. Are you inviting me?”

It was Craig. “Shit,” I whispered then sighed in disappointment. I felt my smile melt into my face and gave him a less than weak greeting. “Hi.”

He teased, “Where did all of the flirtation go?”

“Right out of the window,” I said.

“Does this mean that I can't come over?” he asked.

“My sentiments exactly.”

“I miss you,” he said. “Don't you have anything for me, for old time's sake?”

“Something like what?”

He chuckled a little. “You know what I like.”

I blushed but didn't let him move me. “How can I help you, Mr. Johnson?”

He said, “I'm doing fine. Thank you for asking. How are you?” I couldn't figure out if he was trying to be nice, sexy, or pleasantly annoying. Regardless of his ploy, I decided to stick to the bad attitude that he was used to getting from me.

“What do you want?”

“I believe I asked how you were doing,” he repeated.

“I'm fine. But does it really matter?”

“Of course it matters,” he said. “Everything about you matters.”

“Whatever.” Though there were days when I still longed for him, Craig would never know. “What do you want?” I had to handle him with an iron fist. He had given me not one, but two sexually transmitted diseases, so as long as hell was hot, Craig would be on my IDGF list. As a matter of fact, he was on my I Don't Give a Fuck list twice, under his first name and that last name that I had to get rid of.

“Why are you so rude today?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Just not in a good mood.”

“Oh, I see. That time of the month again?” he said.

“I'm not listening to this.” I couldn't believe him. “Call back and leave a fuckin' message.” I was about to hang up when I heard him apologize.

“Wait, wait. I'm sorry. I just called to ask a question.”

“What?” This was actually our nicest exchange of words in the last three months. My hatred for him intensified during the summer months. As though temperatures in the nineties, busting my ass at the gym, and being sexually frustrated weren't enough, my ex-husband just happened to look like he walked off of the cover of a magazine. So, I was stressed and pissed by the end of the summer.

He finally asked his million-dollar question. “Did a letter from Harrison Financial come there for me?”

“ No. ”

He asked, “Are you sure?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed without answering the ignorant question.

“Hello?”

“I'm here,” I said.

“Did you hear me?” he asked.

“Yes.” I applied my eyeliner. “Craig, there is no letter from Harrison Financial here for you. As a matter of fact, there is no mail here for you.” I went on. “If something was here, I would've dropped it into your mail slot at the school like I always do.”

“Well, I'm sorry about bothering you.”

“Do you have any other questions?” I continued, when I knew that I really didn't have to. “Because I'm expecting company and would hate to be interrupted by another call from you.”

“No, that's all I called for.”

I smiled as I said, “Good-bye.”

“Paige,” he called just as I began to take the receiver away from my ear. “Wait.”

“What?”

“So your company . . .” He paused. “Is it a male or a female?”

“Why?” I was glad that I had tapped into his curiosity. This was exactly the kind of conversation I always wanted us to have, one where he was left wondering, and only I would know the truth.

“It's a man.” I was grinning from ear to ear. Even if I were expecting Toni, I wouldn't have changed my answer. I wanted to make him think about another man's fingertips tracing my nipples. I longed for the day when Craig would imagine my innocent little lips sliding downward to the shaft of another man's dick. “Why did you ask?” I hoped that later he'd sit alone and picture a man moving his feather-soft tongue over my most sensitive spots.

“No special reason,” he lied. “Just thought I'd ask.”

“Well, yes, it's a man,” I repeated, in case he didn't hear me the first time.

“Just be careful,” he said.

“Careful of what? I think I've had every sexually transmitted disease that there is.”

“Here we go a-fuckin-gain,” he said.

I didn't know why I threw that in his face so much, because even after our divorce, Craig and I still got together for sex once every four or five months. It was always protected, but the meaning of it was still missing. However, the sex was powerful, and at the time, it did more for me than the psychiatrist I was paying. Craig was the snake that attacked me, so I went back to drain him of his venom. It was also the cure. Craig was the problem, and his dick was one hell of a solution.

I called these sexual gatherings DSS, short for Divorce Sex Sessions. During our DSS, I was untamed, nasty, and had the filthiest mouth in all of the southern states. I called him everything but a child of God. I wanted him to know that though I was stupid enough to be in bed with him, I wasn't silly enough to forget who he really was.

One of my favorite lines was, “Fuck me, you ungrateful, whorish motherfucka.” He knew that I would never forgive him. “After you eat my pussy, get the fuck out of my house.” He knew that deep down inside I wanted nothing more than his eight inches of sausage in my meat grinder. “Make me scream, you big-dick bitch.”

Then there were those times, normally a few days before my period, when I got emotional. “Why couldn't you just act right?” I asked a few times, soaked in tears, and got no answer. To this day, I don't know if those emotions were from the heart or evoked by him hitting my G, H, I, and J spots from the back. “This pussy was all yours. Why couldn't you just do right?” We would sweat, grind, expand, and deflate together through the night, but the next day at school, I'd walk by him as though he was a student that never took my class.

Just as all good things must come to an end, all bad things that we fool ourselves into believing were good, must also die. The DSS stopped six months ago, one night when I was on my knees before him and Craig answered his cellular phone. With only the whites of his eyes showing, he lied to the woman on the other end about where he was, then promised her that he'd be at her house within an hour and a half.

“Damn.” I used to be her. I, the ex-wife, became the other woman.

“Get the fuck out,” I cried as I stood up and wiped my mouth, ashamed by what I had allowed myself to become, all for a big dick and a smile. “Get out.”

“What?” he asked.

“Leave.” I pointed at the door.

“What are you talkin' about?” he asked. “Why?”

“Why?” I screamed. “Because I'm not stupid.”

“Paige, what are you talking about?” He stroked himself and beckoned to me. “Come on. Come sit on it.” He joked, “You can't send me out with my dick like this.”

“Yes, I can.” I was hurting like it was day one all over again. “Just leave.”

He stood up. “What in the hell is your problem today?”

“My problem is that I'm not going to suck your dick for you to go out and fuck someone else.” I walked over to the door.

“Don't you have someone that you see?” he asked, and when I didn't respond, he spoke again. “I never told you that you couldn't have sex with someone else.” He added, “We're divorced.”

He was right. We were divorced, and I wasn't even trying to be with another man . . . All I wanted was him. The only thing the divorce did was make it all right for him to do what he had already been doing. It made me stupid enough to believe that as long as we weren't living together, sharing the same last name and bank account, that sex was just sex. But it wasn't just sex. It was beginning to destroy me all over again.

“You didn't have a problem doing it all the other times,” he said, pointing to his piece.

“What the—?” I wanted to strangle him. “The only thing that matters is that I have a problem doing it today.” I opened the door and felt comfort watching him walk away.

I'm only human, so of course I'd been tempted to dip onto his chocolate cone again, but that was the last time because if I knew better, which I did, I needed to start acting like it.

 

 

I had forgotten all about being on the phone with Craig until I heard his voice again. “So, who's this guy?”

“A friend of mine,” I said.

“Of course he's a friend of yours. He's certainly not my friend. I meant what's his name?”

“What does any of this have to do with your letter from Harrison Financial?”

“Never mind,” he said. “Well, I hope you two have a nice evening.”

“Thank you.” My doorbell rang. “That's him now. I have to go.” I hung up. “I'm coming,” I shouted then went down my checklist. “Purse, Moët, cell phone, and keys.” When all four things were in my possession, I raced to the door.

“Hey.” I stepped out toward Doran in his black slacks and navy shirt. I tiptoed and pecked him on the cheek. “Hey back at you. You're looking good.” He looked me up and down then took the champagne bottle from my hand.

“Thank you.” I had been saving this extra-low-V-cut black top for months. It was so revealing that I had to use double-sided tape to keep me from doing a Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction—and yes, I, too, had the sterling silver sunburst nipple shields on both breasts. I gave them as gifts to myself right after Super Bowl XXXVIII. “Does that mean that you like my outfit?”

He was staring at the ultra-high split in the front of my short, tight-fitting black skirt. He glanced back up at my top. “I love your outfit.”

“Thank you,” I said and pointed to his car. “Let's get this show on the road.”

 

 

Toni and Marcus were overcharged with sexual energy. His hands didn't leave her body all night. He sat her in his lap, danced with her, held her hand, and I even caught him rubbing on her thighs during dinner. “I ain't mad at you,” I whispered into her ear at the table and smiled.

Kimberly, Toni's other best friend, also a recovering pole addict, had a baby two months ago. This was Kim and Derrick's first night out since becoming parents. They, too, were all hands.

Marcus' younger brother, Nathan, had just returned from Iraq four days prior to the dinner party, and Nikki, his girlfriend of two years, was all smiles.

Michael was Toni's cousin, and he and his boyfriend, Jason, were just gross, not because they we're gay, but because they had no boundary of what they wouldn't do in public. I personally wouldn't want to watch a woman, sitting across a coffee table from me, shove her hand in her man's pocket and begin rubbing his third leg. Well, that was exactly what Michael was doing to Jason, and at one point, I even saw Jason's eyes roll back a little. With Doran there, I was more than embarrassed, and completely understood when he excused himself to the patio.

Fred, Marcus' best friend, and his wife, Melinda, were nicknamed the Mega-Couple. They were both lawyers, worked at the same firm, and had two children, ages eleven and eight. The surprising thing about Fred and Melinda was that they flew to Cancun once a year to a swingers' gathering. No one, including me, was supposed to know about that, but one night Marcus tried selling Toni on the idea of going. She called me and asked my opinion, and then it all came out. Fred and Melinda got their freak on by switching partners with other couples. More power to them. I wasn't strong enough to know that my man was cheating on me, so you know I couldn't
watch
him with another chick. It would be called swinging because that's exactly what I'd be doing—swinging, trying to beat the bitch down.

Throughout the night, Doran did a great job at my side, holding my hand, pouring me drinks. He didn't hesitate to pull me onto the makeshift dance floor when R. Kelly sang, “I know that there's somebody's birthday tonight, and I know that somebody's breaking out the champagne.”

Everybody in attendance stepped in the name of something. I was stepping in the name of lust. Doran spun me around, dipped me, swung me, and when he pulled me into him, I felt the tempting hardness below his waist.

“I didn't know you had it in you,” he whispered in my ear.

“Had what?”

He smiled. “Those types of moves.”

“Please,” I taunted him, “that was nothing.”

“Really?” He tightened his grasp around my waist. “Please show me more,” he pleaded and I delivered, all the way until it was time to go.

Suddenly, he wasn't just another teacher, workout partner, or a friend. He was a man, and I was anxious to be alone with him. “See you all later.” I hugged a few necks and said my good-byes.

“I'll call you tomorrow. You and I have to talk, honey,” Michael whispered in my ear as I bid him adieu. The way he was staring at Doran's ass told me exactly what he wanted to talk about. “Tomorrow.” He smiled.

In the foyer, I said goodnight to Toni. “He's really nice, Paige.” She swallowed the rest of whatever was in her glass. “Where are you guys going?”