Killing Them Softly (6 page)

After another evening alone drinking and listening to music, I turned off the stereo and went upstairs to bed. Taye was already asleep—with her customary bottle of sleeping pills and half-empty glass of water by her side.

I pulled back the covers and got in bed. I looked at Taye. "My beautiful baby," I said, and touched her face. "Why do you insist on sleeping in sexy lingerie?" I turned off the lights and wondered how long could I keep this up?

It was late Friday afternoon when my flight arrived at JFK. After Devin left that Sunday, I checked out of the Marriott and caught a charter flight to Isla de Vieques—an island about ten miles to the east of the Puerto Rican mainland. After a weekend of drinking by the pool and hanging out with Devin, I wanted to go someplace quiet to relax. I checked into Martineau Bay Resort & Spa—a plantation-style resort, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean that billed itself as the ultimate island sanctuary. It did give me a chance to really relax and think.

I spent some time thinking about Devin, and patted myself on the back for not sleeping with him, even though I wanted to so very badly. In the back of my mind, I still wanted my marriage, and sleeping with Devin would not be the way to accomplish that. I had made it a point not to discuss any real details about myself. I didn’t tell him about the problems Tyrone and I were having, and nothing at all about the fact that I had money. I wouldn’t want to think that Devin was interested in me because he thought he was pushing up on money. The fact that he wanted my body was what my ego needed.

I spent the rest of the week there. I hadn’t come to any real conclusions, but I was ready to come home. After collecting my luggage, I had a car service take me home. Tyrone and I lived in a house on Windward Road in Glen Cove. It was a traditional townhouse that sat atop a bluff, overlooking the Long Island Sound. I decorated that house and redesigned it, when you get down to it. It was a beautiful house with vaulted ceilings and five bedrooms. I picked out the marble in the house, took months deciding on the granite and wood floors that ran throughout the propriety, as well as those lovely French doors that led to my deck and all those incredible sunsets over Manhattan. As we drove, I wondered just how long I would call it home.

I had the driver drop my bags at the door and tipped him. Once he was gone, I kicked off my shoes and headed straight for my deck. It was unseasonably warm for that time of year in New York, and I thought I’d relax and unwind out there after my flight.

When I opened the French doors and walked out on the deck, what I saw made me stop dead in my tracks. There she was—with her long, blonde hair—with her ass sitting in my chair.
He got his fuckin’ nerve bringing his new bitch to my house!
"Umm, excuse me."

Her neck snapped around and she looked at me, and then she smiled. "Oh, I’m sorry. You startled me. You must be Carmen—" she started, but I cut her ass off quick. "No. That’s the maid. Who the fuck are you?" I asked, and started walking up on her.

She jumped up from my chair and started backing away from me. "I don’t know who you are, but I think you should leave before I call the police."

"The police?" She’s gonna call the police on me in my own house. "Go ahead and call them."

"Look," she said, and continued to back away. "If you want money, my purse is inside. You can have it all. Please, just don’t hurt me."

When she ran out of deck to back up on, I had her cornered. I slapped her in the face because I knew I wouldn’t get another chance, and watched it turn red. "Go ahead and call the police. I’ll be upstairs," I told Blondie and went inside.

As I walked through the house, she came back inside, and I could hear her frantic-ass trying to call Tyrone. "Answer the phone, damn it!"

I knew that she was wasting her time. Tyrone had a bad habit of not answering his phone when he was busy, and not checking his messages. His secretary does that for him, and gives him the messages that are important. "Get used to it, sweetie," I said as I walked up the steps.

Since this is such a nice neighborhood, the police were there is less than five minutes. I listened by the door as she explained to the police that some black woman broke into her
boyfriend’s
house, and assaulted her.

"Is she still in the house, ma’am?" the officer asked.

"She’s upstairs. Probably stealing the jewelry."

"How can I steal my own jewelry, dumb bitch?" I said out loud, and waited for the cops to come upstairs. After I showed them my driver’s license listing the house as my address, the officers, realizing the delicate situation they had stumbled into, apologized and went back downstairs to break the news to Blondie.

"His wife?" I heard her say. "That’s his wife?"

"Yes ma’am. So I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave."

It was hours later when Tyrone finally got to the house. I could no longer call it a home. He had done everything he could to make that clear to me.

My bags were packed and in the car by then, and I was sitting in the living room. All that remained was for me to get some things off my chest, and get out of there. I felt embarrassed and humiliated by the fact that he would bring her to what was once our house.

"Barb," I heard him yell when he came through the door. "I got something for you, baby. Barb, where are you, baby?"

"Not Barb."

"Oh, shit," Tyrone said softly, and came slowly into the living room. "Hello, Avonte. When did you get back?"

"A couple of hours ago. I got here just in time to catch a burglar."

"A burglar?"

"Yes, but the police came and put her out."

When I said
her
, Tyrone sat down in the chair across from me. "Her?"

"Yeah, her," I said, and threw my drink at him. "How could you do that to us, Tyrone?"

"What did I do?"

"Don’t play stupid with me, Tyrone, it doesn’t suit you. Barb!" I yelled, wishing I had something else to throw at him. "You had your concubine in our house! I was only gone a week, Tyrone. How could you just move another woman in here?"

"I didn’t move her in, Avonte. Be reasonable."

I bolted up from the couch. "Be reasonable? Did you fuck her in our bed?" I asked, looking for something to throw. There was a lamp nearby, so I grabbed it and threw it. That got his attention as he jumped out of his seat.

"You got to believe me, Avonte. I didn’t move her in. I had a meeting to go to, so I left her here. I didn’t think I’d be gone this long, and I definitely wasn’t expecting you," Tyrone said, moving around the room as I looked for more stuff to throw.

"So, you brought that bitch over here? Did you fuck her in our house?"

"No."

"Don’t lie to me. Do you think I’m some kind of fool?" I threw a vase at him. "You been fucking the bitch all this time, but now you want me to believe that you didn’t say, ‘Come on, Barbie; let’s fuck in your new house?" I picked up a big glass ashtray and threw it at him. That one almost hit him.

"It didn’t happen!"

"It doesn’t matter!" I shouted back, and threw another lamp at him. "The fact that you brought her here, to our house, proves that you don’t have any respect for me. You never have."

"That’s not true."

"Yes, it is!" The tears were streaming down my face, and my heart felt like it was going to break out of my chest. I stopped moving, closed my eyes, and tried to calm down. "Why did she think I was the maid?"

"What?" Tyrone asked.

"When I got here, she thought I was Carmen. What’s the matter? You didn’t tell her that your wife is black?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When I got here, Miss Thing was propped up in my chair on the deck. When I came in, she thought I was the maid instead of your wife. The fucking cops had to tell her I was your wife, and she sounded pretty surprised."

I ran out of the house and heard Tyrone calling my name. I got in the car and left him standing on the lawn screaming, "Avonte!" And I wondered why I was suddenly so important to him.

I checked into the first hotel I got to, and resolved for myself that it was over. I would go see our lawyer in the morning to see where I stood financially, and go from there.

It was another one of those nights; burning the midnight oil, trying to get a project ready to present in the morning. Things had moved along a lot faster than usual for a change, so I sent just about everybody home except Sandra and Eileen, another woman who worked in the office. By one o’clock, Eileen was done with her portion and was more than ready to go home.

"So, Devin, you gonna send me home or what?" Eileen said, standing up gathering her things together.

"Yeah, Eileen, you can jet. And thanks for staying," I said, looking over her work. "Looks good—real good. Maybe you should come in at five in the evening and work until one in the morning every day. You do better work at night."

"You sound like a fool. This is not the kind of night work I like doing. If you dig what I mean," Eileen said, heading for the door. "Sandra, you about done? You want me to wait for you?"

"No, girl. You go ahead on," Sandra said.

"Okay. Now you two kids play nice together. Don’t fight."

Sandra and I both laughed. "Don’t worry, mom. I promise I’ll be good. You won’t have to come back and whip us," Sandra said.

"We’re just about done here anyway," I said to Eileen, watching her walk toward the door.

The door closed and I got back to work, reviewing the work we had spent the night doing. It was good—damn good, if I do say so myself. The client should be pleased with it. I looked at the clock, thinking I should be done by two. There really wasn’t any reason for Sandra to stay, but she always stayed with me until the job was done.

I looked up and noticed that Sandra was standing in the doorway. I wondered how long she’d been standing there. I gave her my very best, genuine, fake smile. "Hi, Sandra," I said, rustling through some papers on my desk, trying to present the impression that I was working, and not fantasizing about having sex with Avonte. "Give me I few more minutes, and we’ll be ready to go."

"You know something, Devin . . ." Sandra walked slowly into the office, kind of lifelessly.

She plopped down in the chair and exhaled very deeply. I looked at her eyes. She didn’t look tired. But it was almost as though she was dragging herself. Which was out of character for her; Sandra never got tired. I’d seen her go two days in this office without sleep. By the end of the second day, all of us were done, but not Sandra. She was trying to lead us in a sing-a-long of
"
We Are the World".

". . . I envy you," she said, fanning herself with the report she’d spent all night working on.

"What do you envy about me?"

"You and Taye. Taye really."

"Why’s that, Sandra?"

"You two seem so happy together. I mean, you guys just took a romantic trip to Puerto Rico."

I smiled, thinking,
If you only knew the truth of how our relationship was going, you wouldn’t say that.
"I love my baby. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me," I lied.

"Me and Ike don’t do anything together."

"Y’all don’t watch television together?"

"When we watch TV, yeah, we’re in the same room, but we’re not together. He sits in his chair, I sit on the couch, and that’s that. It’s like we’re strangers sometimes."

"You don’t think he’s fooling around on you, do you?"

"No. Well, at least I don’t think so. I mean, when would he have time? I could set a clock by him. He leaves the house the same time every morning, gets home the same time every night. He never goes anywhere. He doesn’t have anybody he hangs out with. No one ever calls him, except his family from Texas. I try to get him to go out after work with the guys he works with, but he won’t go."

"Y’all don’t go anywhere together? Have a drink, catch a flick, nothing? Go to a restaurant; nothing like that?"

"If I don’t cook, we don’t eat."

"Damn, that’s whack."

"Fucked up is what it is," Sandra said, slumping lower in her chair.

I never knew it was like that. I felt bad for her. Sandra was one of the nicest people I knew. Everybody liked her. She was always so alive and friendly. I never would have thought that she was that unhappy. Or was she? "How does that make you feel?" I asked like a psychologist.

"You want me to go lay down on the couch?" Sandra said, as she started to get up.

"Sit down, girl; it ain’t that type a party."

"I was about to say . . . since you’re trying to psychoanalyze me." We both laughed. Then Sandra got up and walked toward the window. "I tried talking to him about it. But he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong. He says, ‘It ain’t like we argue.’ And he’s right. We don’t argue. But sometimes I wish we did. Maybe then he’d show me some passion."

"Hey," I said, pointing a cautioning finger. "Be careful what you wish for."

"You’re right. I sure don’t wanna go there. But a little emotion would be nice. A little emotion directed at me would be better. Just a little bit of passion, maybe. What am I saying?—A whole lot of passion. I don’t think that’s a whole lot for a wife to ask of her husband."

"No, it’s not," I agreed, thinking that it wouldn’t be a whole lot for a husband to ask of his wife.

"See, passion ain’t no problem for y’all, is it?"

"Nope. I think we got that part covered," I lied again. But I was thinking about lying on my back and opening my eyes to the site of Avonte riding me.

"So when you get home, you’re gonna wake Taye up and go for it. Ain’t you?"

"Yes," I lied again, and wondered why I was keeping up this front.

There would be nothing going on in our bedroom that night, or any other night. But it wasn’t always like that. I remembered when we first got together. It was like we felt each other sometimes. One minute we’ll be talking and we’ll just look at each other. The next thing you know, we’re naked and into it. And it didn’t matter where we were or what was going on around us. We’d do it anywhere.

But it wasn’t just our sex life. It was much more than that. We shared everything. We’d talk all the time. We used to talk to each other at least ten times a day, mostly about nothing. I’d think about her and I’d just call, or something would happen to her at work, and she’d just have to tell me all about it.

"I called Ike when you said we had to work late. You know what he said?" Sandra said, snapping me back to reality.

"I’m afraid to ask."

"Did you cook? That’s all he had to say. Not what time will you be home? Not I’ll miss you. Not I’ll wait up for you. Just wanted to know about some fuckin’ food. Like it didn’t matter whether I was there or not. You’re going home to a woman who loves you, and to get fucked. But me, NOT! No; not me. I might as well sleep on the couch. We barely have sex anymore, and when we do—after I beg, I should say—it’s so mechanical."

I didn’t comment on that one, because at that point, mechanical sex with Taye would be a step up for us.

"Devin, most nights we just go to sleep. No touching, no kissin’, just sleep. And when he does give me what I call ‘a mercy fuck’, it’s like he’s running a race or something. Like he’s in a hurry to get it over with. And when he’s done, that’s it. No regard whatsoever for me. He doesn’t care whether I get mine or not. It’s very frustrating."

"Maybe you should try making it more exciting for him. Wear something sexy. Tempt him, tease him; make him want you."

"Been there, done that. Something sexy, huh? If you only knew, Devin." She laughed. "If you only knew. . . ."

I laughed. I didn’t know why, but I laughed. "If I only knew what, Sandra?"

She walked back to the chair and sat down. Then, she smiled at me. "If you only knew what I had on under these jeans and this blouse."

"What?"

"Let’s just say its black and lacy."

"Oooh."

"I like wearing lingerie. I got tons of it. Victoria’s Secret, Frederick’s of Hollywood, all that. I love it."

"Oh, really." I never thought she went for stuff like that. She always seemed so plain; dressed in pants every day. I seemed to remember her having nice legs when I hired her, but that was the last time I saw them. I guess you never really know.

"Does that surprise you? Never mind. I can tell by that look in your eyes. You didn’t think I was the sexy lingerie type. Well, I am, big time."

"He doesn’t like you in it?"

"He used to. I guess it got old, common. You know what I mean?"

"Try something else."

"What do you have in mind? I’ve tried everything I can think of."

"Like what?" Now I was curious. Just how far had she gone? Sandra was an attractive woman. A little on the bony side for my personal taste, but attractive. You wouldn’t think she’d have to go through no whole group of changes just to get her freak on. But what did I know.

"Tell me something; if you came home, and you found the house lit with candles and a trail of Taye’s clothes leading into the bedroom, would you follow it?"

"Yeah; ’cause I’d know that she was waiting for me at the other end of the trail. Why, didn’t he?"

"Devin, I’m laying in the bed, butt naked. I got incense burning and soft music playing to set the mood. I hear the door open and close. I spread my legs and I waited, and waited. Next thing I know, the TV is on and I hear that guy yelling, ‘Let’s get ready to rumble!’"

"Hey, you just picked the wrong night. Men take fight night very seriously."

"I know that. It’s a man thing, right?" She smiled a fake smile.

"Right." I smiled back. "Who was fighting?"

"That’s what pissed me off. It was some old fight on ESPN Classic. It was that bald guy, umm, Marvin Hagler, and some guy with a bad Jheri curl."

"Hey, I think I might’ve had to pass, too. That guy with the curl was Tommy ‘The Hit Man’ Herns. And that was one of the greatest fights in middle-weight history."

"Yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what he said. So what? Fight didn’t even last long."

"But what there was, was great." I got up and sat down on the couch. "Great fight."

"Anyway, I’ve tried everything from nasty movies to serving him a candlelit dinner, naked. Nothing about it seems to get him excited. Nothing about me excites him. I’m twenty-nine years old. I need to feel like a woman. I need to feel wanted. And I don’t. And I hate it," Sandra said, once again slumping deep in the chair.

"I’m sorry." What else could I say? No one should have to go through life like that. A passionless relationship like the one I had. I knew exactly what it felt like sleeping with Taye every night and not touching her, not kissing her, not feeling her body next to mine. Not being inside her.

I was ready to go. Sandra was starting to depress me. But I felt like I had to hear her out. I considered Sandra a friend, and she was baring her soul to me. The last thing she needed was for me to seem disinterested, or that I didn’t care because I was getting mine. I looked over at Sandra. She looked so sad sitting there straining to rub her neck. I got up and walked behind her chair. I moved her hands out of the way and began to massage her neck. "Damn, girl. You really are tense."

"That’s what I been trying to tell you. I’m surprised that I don’t have big bumps all over my face."

"Maybe you should buy some toys or something, make it fun."

"I thought about that, don’t think I didn’t. But I’m just too ashamed to go up in one of those places."

"Why? Everybody in there is there for the same reason: trying to find just the right thing to make it more interesting."

"You ever been to one?"

"Me and Taye go sometimes." At least we used to. "Some of the stuff they got is pretty wild."

"But you do it together. That’s what’s important. Y’all do it together. Right there, Devin. Yeah, that feels good." She was rocking her head from side to side.

"Maybe you should take him with you. I mean, that will serve two purposes. You’d be doing something together, and then you get to go home and have some fun doing something together."

"A little lower. Between my shoulder blades." Sandra unbuttoned a few buttons on her blouse and pushed it off her shoulders. Under that blouse she was wearing a spaghetti strapped black lace teddy. "Thought I was kidding about the lace, huh? I like the way it feels against my skin. Makes me feel sexy."

I stopped.

"Don’t stop. You were just gettin’ there."

"Chill out. Who’s doing this? You just sit there and relax. Leave the hard work to me. Cool?"

"Cool. Just don’t stop. Cool?"

"Cool."

"Cool."

Neither of us said anything for a while. I marveled at how many similarities there were between the way Ike used to treat Sandra, and the way me and Taye were.

"Anyway, Devin, I’ve tried everything. I just don’t know what else to do," Sandra said, as she hunched her shoulders. "It wasn’t always like this. When we were in Texas, my God, he was all over me—all the time. In the bed, on the stairs, anywhere. There wasn’t a piece of furniture that we hadn’t done it on. Surprised me for lunch, and sometimes we’d just go to the motel and get busy for lunch." She laughed. "I remember one night we had planned to go to dinner, and he was supposed to pick me up when I got off work, right? I didn’t see him, so I started to get in my car and drive home. I opened the door, and there were a dozen roses on the front seat, and he was hiding in the backseat. He was so attentive. He’d call me four, five times a day. You know what I’m talking ’bout, like you call Taye. Now, hmmph, when the phone rings, I know it’s not him."

"Doesn’t even sound like the same guy. What happened?"

"I have no clue. After we moved here, things just changed."

"Why’d y’all move here anyway?"

"Opportunity. I wasn’t getting anywhere in San Antonio."

"What about Ike?"

"Huh?"

"I didn’t stutter. What about Ike?"

"What do you mean, ‘what about Ike’?"

"I mean, how did he feel about it? How was he doing in San Antonio? I mean, was he all for the move?"

"He wasn’t with it at all at first, but he came around."

"How did you convince him?"

"I just told him I was going with or without him." Then she smiled a very satisfied smiled.

"You broke him. Took that man’s spirit, didn’t you?"

"What you talking ’bout, Devin. He’s doin’ better here than he ever has."