Nympho (21 page)

“Don't act like you're perfect here, you screaming pussy! I know that you didn't shoot Tanya, and I may be the only one who can corroborate your story at trial. I also know of a few crucial details that you're not even aware of. After the way you talked to my ass, all bets are off. I was going to put up money for your defense and do everything in my power to help free an innocent man. Now, huh, you're on your own, baby cakes—sink or swim.”

“Why won't you recognize the reason why my life got fucked up—I wouldn't be stuck in here if I hadn't met you, and I hadn't known you! You're in need of therapy, behavioral counseling, or something,” Trey screamed, losing control of his emotions.

“Shame on Leslie? What about Trey the hypocrite, Trey the equal opportunity asshole? You also did some real cruddy things. What about the things you did by playing me and that dead bitch? You're just like Tanya. Now you're just another black man caught up in the prison system. If you knew what I knew, I wouldn't bank on justice prevailing.”

“Why don't you deal with your issues before you wreck someone else's life? Better yet, didn't you think I deserved your respect?” he snapped again.

“I was as direct as I could be about what I needed from you without bruising your male ego. As far as the rest of your commentary . . . whatever, Trey,” I said, waving my hand. I was about to rise from my seat in the booth, but couldn't help but to try to get in the last word. “You have no idea what difficulties I've been through in life. You just have no idea what it's been like to be Leslie Thompson.” I turned my back toward him as I fought to hold back the tears. “You make me out to be some evil monster, but all I wanted was to really be loved and accepted for who I am. I'm not unbreakable . . . I'm just not, Trey. I'm human and I have feelings, just like you do. I never wanted Cartier, Tiffany, Chanel, or Dom Perignon. I could've been happy living in a modest little one-bedroom cottage with the man I thought would wake up and give me what I obviously craved—
attention
. Even so, all I ever got from you was criticism!” I explained, my voice wavering. I extended my arm to hang up the phone as tears began streaming down my face, accepting that I was getting the closure I needed to disconnect every emotion from Trey.

As I wiped the tears clean, I considered that he was getting on my nerves by assuming so much about me and my mind-set, until I heard something I never expected. Trey touched the glass with the fingertips of his left hand. I placed the phone back up to my ear to hear his words.

“When I was fifteen, I secretly fathered a child. My parents don't know, but somewhere out there…I have a son. The baby was snatched away from his mother and given up for adoption. I searched high and low for him for years and years to no avail. I never wanted to risk hurting you; I loved you so much, Lesile. You're beautiful and I could hardly manage to resist you. What I felt for you transcended the physical, and I thought you knew that. To me, abstaining was the lesser of two evils. Now you know why I wanted to stop having sex with you, until our wedding day. When I found out you did get pregnant, I figured it was a sign from God that he gave me another child to make up for the sadness I experienced so long ago. You don't have any idea of the life I've led either. Now you know my biggest secret, too. Are you happy now, Leslie . . . are you?”

Trey dropped the phone and broke down in tears. I watched him sob, and the thought of a man revealing his hurt at the most inopportune time made me feel small and defeated. I hung up the phone and left without saying goodbye. As I walked away, all I could do was pretend I didn't hear what he told me. When trial time came, maybe I'd tell the District Attorney the truth . . . but probably
not.
I could always pretend I didn't remember a thing. After all, I was high as a kite when the love train collided and derailed. Unfortunately, our desire to communicate fully was much too late—too much wickedness had already fallen upon us. Despite his surprising confession, I still doubted I could ever forgive him for marrying Tanya behind my back. To me, doing that was completely unforgivable. As a result, I would never fully extend the olive branch and regret what I did to Trey, even if my affair with Rico began over a simple lack of communication

I
would never admit it to Trey, but he was right about a few things. Now the big question was if my lack of self-control led to me being HIV positive, or if it would prove to be a bit of a set up for a strong come back. To answer that question, I took off on a not so fantastic voyage in pursuit of the truth. I went to the health department's STD clinic to get an AIDS test. I didn't desire to make an appointment with my regular medical doctor because I didn't want to generate a paper trail that would follow me on my medical record if anything was in fact wrong with my health. I recalled some prostitutes on craigslist.org mentioning that they got tested at the county health department, so I went to Google and found a number to ask about how things worked. I had never had reason to get tested in the past, but now I truly did.

“Yes, I would like to have some information about getting tested,” I said to the woman who answered the phone.

“Get here 8:00
A.M.
, Monday through Friday, with the exception of Thursday. We're open from 11:30 to 6:00 on Thursdays,” the woman told me.

I could tell by the tone of her voice that people pestered her with those sorts of questions every few minutes. I don't now how she had the patience for it, even if she was being paid.

“What do you test for? Do you get your results the same day?” I asked.

“We test for all of the major sexually transmitted diseases. After you're tested, it takes a week or so to get everything back from the lab.”

“So you also test for HIV there?”

“The results take two weeks for that.”

“I read something on the Internet about a test where you can find out your results the same day so I'm a bit confused.”

“That's the rapid results HIV test. HAP is on the first floor. We're on the second floor. You have to call down there to find out their hours.”

“Do you have their number?”

“Yes, it's area code 301 . . . ,” she said, rambling off the number.

“Thank you.”

“Goodbye,” she replied.

As I drove to the clinic to get tested for the ABC's of STD's, I lost myself in wondering if I was going to die. When I was getting mine, I really didn't consider that Rico or even any of the others could have something. I was so afraid of facing my final judgment call that I could feel my heart pound and my throat get dry. Finding out my status was the pits but I had to do it. Everything we do has consequences. When we play any game of chance, sometimes we luck out and get off light, and sometimes we don't. I walked into the room feeling very nervous about all of that. I filled out a form that was obviously created for statistical purposes. There was no way I was going to admit I engaged in any type of high-risk sexual activity with so many random partners, even though I was getting tested anonymously. If I did admit those things, how could I ever look at myself in the mirror again? It was much easier to lie through the pain. Running away from it made me feel a little better, so I let that part of what was done in the dark stay in the dark.

After I filled out the form the receptionist gave me, I waited for my turn to be examined. It alarmed me that people sat in the lobby laughing as if sitting in the STD clinic was some sort of joke. I was amazed that anyone could manage to laugh at a time like that when I was embarrassed just being there, and even more embarrassed when they called me by my first and last name. As I stood to enter the back area, the door opened, and a couple exited with brown bags in hand. I thought their faces looked familiar, so I kept staring at them as we nearly brushed shoulders in the hallway. The woman was carrying a small brown paper bag of what a reasonable person could assume was antibiotics. By the time the man touched the doorway to let the woman through the other side of the door, I finally recalled their identity—it was the man and woman I had picked up at the club in D.C., Deja and her husband! My mouth dropped and I continued looking over my shoulder as the door eased shut. I wanted to run up and smack the both of them, but I had no right to. All I could do was watch them leave the room. I then saw what Trey meant. Some people were burning out here. I swallowed, sighed hard, and caught up with the woman I was supposed to be following.

The next thing I recall was being tormented by a monster migraine headache as I made a fist to have my blood drawn. I kept wondering if I was going to lose the only thing I had left—
my life.
After I walked across the hall, an unemotional doctor told me to undress and put on a paper gown, and then she exited the room. I did what she instructed and was ready by the time she returned. Afterward, she ordered me to move down on the table so she could give me a gynecological exam and take specimens to send to the lab. As I placed my legs in metal stirrups, fear grabbed me and wouldn't let go.

“Open your legs,” she told me.

“I did.”

“Miss, you must open them more than that,” she said sounding annoyed.

I opened them wider and cringed as she struggled to affix the speculum. I was waiting for her to apply KY jelly like my GYN usually did upon examining me but she never did.

“Did you know you have a titled uterus? When's the last time you had sex? Have you had an AIDS test yet? You should have an AIDS test,” she said with a distinct accent.

I believe she was Ethiopian, or at least she appeared to be. My head spun as she asked me a series of personal questions I preferred not to answer. As for her cold demeanor, I couldn't blame her. My hole was just one of many to inspect, and after all, I was only paying ten dollars for all of the services that were being rendered on my behalf. Although I understood where she was coming from, I felt intimidated by her sterile approach.

Just as the person who answered the phone when I called for information explained, I had to call back for results the following week. In the meantime, I was given two bottles of medication as a preventive measure: 500 milligrams of something called Metronidazole, and 100 milligrams of Doxycycline Hyclate. Why? I couldn't dare admit to the doctor that I had been sexing all sorts of partners I didn't know so I lied and told her that I was raped a few days prior. I didn't need anyone judging me, and telling a little white lie was the only way I could make it through. But then again, I could argue that Rico led me to be sexually assaulted by a room full of policemen. I never told them to stop what they were doing so that evening fell into a gray area.

Next, I took my last journey to the first floor. HAP was written on the door, so I opened it when I was certain I was in the correct place. I made it in thirty minutes before closing, and the counselor agreed to test me. He explained the procedure and how the rapid results test worked. After he swabbed my mouth below my lower set of teeth, I waited for the big count down. Before leaving the clinic that day, I'd know my status thanks to a modern technique that involved collecting saliva, not blood. In the meantime, I decided to write Trey a letter that would explain the other half of my issues—the half I never revealed to anyone outside of my family. I didn't know if I would mail it after his performance but I knew I at least wanted to put it on paper.