Live and Learn (24 page)

F
or Jaime, image was everything. And in her world, the image was all about perfection. It was a must. The right look. The right hairstyle. The right clothes. The right associates and friends—love them or hate them. The right business contacts. The right thing to say. The right place to be. The right husband, house, and finances. This was all she knew. It was her comfort zone and in her life she
had to
find comfort wherever she could.

Jaime pulled her silver convertible Volvo C70 in front of the valet stand of the renovated 1930s Georgian cottage that served as the day spa Serenity. She double-checked her appearance in her Chanel compact. Her bone-straight jet-black hair—the best complement to her cinnamon-bronzed skin—was evenly part down the middle and lying better than Pocahontas’ ass could’ve ever dreamed thanks to a celebrity hairstylist who catered to East Coast celebrities. She had to save up for six months to afford the hefty two-thousand-dollar fee, but no one knew that. She damn sure felt worthy. She was a beautiful woman and she knew it.

Her MAC makeup was perfectly in place on high cheekbones that screamed of her father’s African heritage and deep-set feline eyes that were all about her mother’s Asian legacy. It was that mixed exotic look that first drew her husband to her. Once upon a time, she thought he would never be able to deny her anything because of her beauty. She thought her seat on his pedestal was unshakable. A constant. Till death.

She focused her vision on her reflection and tried to suppress the sadness filling her eyes.
I was so wrong
. She snapped the compact closed and dropped it into her oversized woven-straw Coach tote. The diamonds of her two-carat wedding band twinkled brighter than the summer sun, but they were mocking her and so she quickly shifted her gaze away from it.

Literally shaking it off, Jaime slid on her Bottega Veneta shades and climbed from the vehicle dressed in a bright lemon Nanette Lepore silk scoop neck tank and matching flowing pants. If she felt as good as she looked, her walk of confidence into the building would’ve been more than just a front.

“Hello, Mrs. Hall. The ladies are waiting for you in the Heaven Room,” Hannah, the tall and thin receptionist, told Jaime as soon as she stepped in front of the solid mahogany desk of Serenity’s foyer. “I have you all set up in changing room number one.”

“Thank you, Hannah,” she told the well-tanned and toned redhead as she passed the desk on the right to reach the changing rooms. Sure enough, a white robe and slippers sat folded and awaiting her on the suede chair. The warm décor, plush carpeting, and soft lighting certainly made her feel serene.

A spa day with her friends was just what she needed to forget that the shambles of her marriage was all her own doing. Guilt was a damn hard pill to swallow. Some drinks, pampering, and gossip with her friends would make her forget…hopefully.

Jaime hung up her clothes and slid her undergarments into one of the net bags supplied in the small closet. She sighed at the feel of the plush robe against her nude skin. Her nipples tingled and goosebumps raced across her flesh. Eric’s little sabbatical from sex had her horny as hell. She tried to ignore that steady pulsing of her clit as she left the room and walked down the wide private hall in search of her friends.

“Hello, Mrs. Hall.”

She smiled at the male attendant standing outside the double doors in his all-white attire. He was there to service any of their requests for the day. She gave him a nod and a fake smile as he opened the double doors leading into the private room. Her smile became genuine as she eyed Aria and Renee already comfortably seated in two of the four plush leather massage chairs situated in the center of the all-white room. Jaime knew without asking that they were having chocolate pedicures. She couldn’t wait to join them.

Aria was young and pretty with the kind of laidback, no-fuss/no-muss style that Jaime had long ago lost and sometimes yearned for. There was no denying that Aria and Jamal were in love. Jaime always fought hard not to let her jealousy of their marriage taunt her. She made the bed of her marriage and now she was lying in it.

Renee was the senior of their group but her looks would never reveal it. The woman was thick and solid, with more curves than a roller coaster ride. Forty looked damn good on her and that eighty-hours-a-week corporate job wasn’t hurting her either.
Just too bad Clinton doesn’t appreciate her
, Jaime thought as she set her purse on the floor and slid onto her leather club chair.

“Girl, your ass is gonna be late to your own funeral,” Aria teased before taking a sip from some frosty red concoction in her crystal goblet.

“And looking good as ever, baby. Believe that,” Jaime teased back, stepping up on the platform to take a seat beside Aria.

Renee snuggled down deeper into her chair and closed her eyes. “Better late than never.”

Aria cocked a well shaped brow. “We talkin’ ’bout Jaime or a period?”

“Shee-it…
both
.” Renee opened one eye to peer at them as she laughed and reached on the side for her BlackBerry.

“I know that’s right,” Jaime added as she accepted the slender, suede-covered menu the attendant offered her on a small silver tray. “I was hoping Jessa would show today because I had to ask her about Olivia’s husband getting caught in the wine cellar…
with
a man…
without
a stitch of clothes.”

“What?” Aria and Renee gasped in unison as they both leaned in close.

Jaime nodded. “Yup, yup.”

“Confirmed?” Aria asked, her bright eyes wide.

Jaime shook her head and studied her hands. “Can’t confirm it. That’s why I was hoping to see Jessa. She knows everything about everything.”

Aria nodded in agreement. “That’s true. Jessa always has the best gossip. Our girl does not play. Humph. Wendy Williams don’t have shit on her.”

“Who?” Renee and Jaime asked in unison with confusion on their faces.

“Never mind,” Aria muttered, reaching for her drink.

Jaime just shrugged and waved her hand dismissively. She was sure they had missed one of Aria’s ghetto colloquialisms. “You have to admit that Jessa is easy to talk to, and that puts her ear to a lot of mouths telling their business in Richmond Hills.”

“Call her,” Renee suggested as she sat her PDA down on her lap.

“I tried and she didn’t answer.” Jaime paused as the tall and muscular attendant came to quietly stand by them. Briefly, she eyed him, and she couldn’t help but notice that his lean but athletic frame was similar to that of Eric. And that made her remember just how long it had been since she enjoyed the sexual comforts of her man.
Way too damn long,
she thought as she pressed her thighs together just to get
any
type of feeling in her pussy. Even more than the wicked strokes of his dick, she would take more than a one-or two-word response from her constant attempts to talk to him. She was so sick of wondering if he would ever forgive her.

Jaime quickly placed her order for a mimosa, anxious to get right back to the juice. Anyone’s business but her own was always interesting and…distracting. “I feel for Olivia. Can you imagine not only the embarrassment of your husband screwing a man but walking in on them? Thank God I’m not her.”

Renee placed her right elbow on the arm of the chair and held her chin in her hand. “I don’t know what I would do if…if it were me. I mean, Jackson and I have problems but I never figured infidelity was one of them.”

Aria leaned forward, a don’t-fuck-with-me expression on her face. “Well, if I walked in on Jamal cheating on me, I would walk right on outta there and come back with nine reasons why both of they ass shoulda been more careful.”

Jaime and Renee both laughed at their young friend as she used her hand to mimic a gun. Aria was a chameleon and could change her demeanor to meet the situation. It was mostly the dignified wife of a doctor, but at times the little girl raised in Newark who didn’t take any shit came out with much too much ease.

Jaime waved her hand dismissively again as the manicurist quietly entered the room and stooped to prepare the chocolate concoction for her feet. “Well, things couldn’t be better between Eric and me. Marriage is tough, but thankfully we have a strong one, and I feel blessed. I really do,” she lied, hiding the truth behind a bright and continually fake smile as she slid her feet into the marble bowl.

Aria looked down to study her freshly polished toes as they walked down the short hall to their private room for coconut massages. As soon as the three women stepped inside, the sweet but subtle scent of the coconut milk that would be drizzled over their bodies was intoxicating. She allowed herself a deep inhale as they all removed their robes and laid their naked bodies down on their individual massage tables. The feel of the crisp cotton pressed against her skin made her sigh as her masseuse covered her to the waist with another sheet.

Aria bit her bottom lip as she thought of Jaime’s declaration of her terrific marriage during their mani-pedis. Something about it irked her. Something about their constant perfection always irked her. “Jaime. Question. If a marriage is good, does that mean a wife should sit and act like the other shoe might not fall?”

“Where’s the trust in that?” Jaime asked.

Aria lifted her head from the table and looked over at Jaime on her left. “There’s a thin line between trust and stupidity,” she said, as the masseuse gently guided her head back down with one hand.

“Well, without trust, the line between being married and being divorced is even thinner,” Jaime shot back in a holier-than-thou tone.

“I think you’re both right,” Renee joined in from Aria’s other side.

Aria rolled her eyes. “I am married to a prominent wealthy black doctor who is fine…matter of fact, fine as hell. Single women stay on the prowl for those endangered species,” she said matter-of-factly, her eyes closed as she fought to find the relaxation of the massage. “God forbid the wrong bitch with tits and ass for days puts him in a corner, his ass
just
might come out. Y’all feel me?”

“So you don’t trust your husband around
any
single woman?”

That
came floating over from her right.

Aria cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t trust him around
anything
that pees sitting down.”

Jaime coughed as if to clear her throat. “What about Jessa?” she asks slyly.

Aria tensed at the question. “What about her?”

“She’s got tits and ass for days. How you know she’s not fucking your man?” Jaime asked calmly.

Now watch me fix her ass
, Aria thought as the hot stones were pressed deep into her lower back with just the right amount of firmness. “I guess the same way you know she ain’t fucking yours,” she said with equal calm.

Renee moaned in disapproval. “Ladies, Jessa Bell is our friend—our best friend—and she’s not sleeping with
any
of our men.”

Aria opened her eyes and playfully turned her nose up at Jaime who in turn winked. “Jessa knows better.”

Jaime nodded. “I was just playing.”

“Aaaaah…” Renee let out a long drawn out sigh of pleasure that was more erotic than therapeutic.

Aria whipped her head over to eye her friend. “You all right over there?” she asked with a teasing tone.

The masseuse’s face remained stoic even as Renee began to giggle. “Girl, I’m
good
,” she stressed with another soft smile.

Aria closed her eyes and tried to get focused on the goodness of her massage. This spa day—which she knew would cost her close to a thousand dollars—was a long way from her days back in Newark. That was a time when shit like a manicure wasn’t on the radar of things to spend money on. Food, rent, light bills, bus fare were the first, the last, and the only priorities.

The big-time career as a freelance writer, the big car, and the husband with the big bank and a big dick were all good, but sometimes she missed the heat and the unique beat of the hood. Sometimes, if she kept it real, Jaime and Renee were too white picket fence for her.

Aria felt out of place with the ladies’ upper-middle-class upbringing and private-school educations. The same background as Jamal’s. Sometimes, Aria felt like she wasn’t good enough for her husband, his life, or his family and friends. Still, she made it her business not to embarrass him or remind him that she was just a poor kid on a full scholarship at Princeton with a caseload of Salvation Army clothes when they met. Aria knew that he loved her—or at least he loved what all he knew about her.

Once the massage drew to an end thirty minutes later and she rose from the table to don her robe, Aria caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall. Her eyes were filled with the secrecy of her past.

“I am so ready for my coconut and sugar body scrub,” Jaime said, as she swung her hair behind her back.

“Me too,” Renee joined in as she stretched and then pulled her PDA from the pocket of her robe.

Aria barely heard them as she studied her reflection.

The thick and smooth texture of her trendy Rihanna asymmetrical cut.

The slender, almost African beauty of her dark-skinned face with its just-barely-there makeup.

She thought of the clothes awaiting her in the changing room. The hip and stylish dark Rock and Republic jeans paired with a bright red Biba ruffled shirt of sheer silk—an outfit that retailed for more than one year’s rent in the low-income projects where she was raised.

She wondered how much of the woman she was today was Aria Livewell, the doctor’s wife living up to her surname, or Aria Johnson, who was just a ghetto girl at heart?

Their spa treatments were over. They had been massaged, exfoliated, and bathed to perfection. The scent of the coconut milk used throughout each treatment still clung to their soft and supple skin. Now it was time for a light lunch at their favorite restaurant, the Terrace Room, to cap off their relaxing morning. Nothing went better with good friends and good food then damn good conversation. Renee was more than game.