Waiting to Exhale (38 page)

I sat down on the toilet for the longest. All my energy was gone. I felt light-headed. Like I wasn't even in this room. In the next second I felt drained, so heavy that I couldn't get up. This isn't right, I thought. That he can pick up the phone and drop this kind of shit on me. Did he expect me to take it like a champ? Did he expect me to not be affected by his little announcement? Married. And then I started laughing. Because there was nothing left to do but laugh.

Finally, I got up. I went back into the kitchen and poured myself another glass of wine. I opened one of the catalogs, and the next thing I knew, I had dialed the toll-free number for Victoria's Secret. When they answered, I realized I didn't know what I wanted to order. So I hung up. Michael. I should call Michael.

I dialed his number. When a woman answered, I knew I had a wrong number, so I hung up and dialed again. She answered again. "Is this Michael Davenport's house?" I asked.

"Yes, it is. Who's calling?"

"Robin."

"Robin who?"

"Robin Stokes."

"Well, Michael's not in right now, but I'll let him know you called as soon as he gets in."

"Do you have any idea when that'll be?"

"About ten."

"Thank you."

"Bye."

I hung up. I didn't know what to think. I know Michael doesn't have a woman living with him. She's probably a relative. Because she was cordial. Maybe she's his sister or something. Who knows? Who gives a shit?

Savannah couldn't believe what Russell had done and the way he'd done it. Bernadine said he was a lowlife anyway, and now maybe I could finally get him out of my system. Gloria said nothing he did surprised her. They wanted to take me out to dinner to cheer me up, but I didn't feel like talking about it. I was too busy trying not to think about it.

I haven't heard from Michael. It's been two days since I returned his phone call. That woman probably wasn't a relative. I don't think she gave him the message. I haven't been seeing him at work, since he's out in the field, so I decided to try him at home again. This time he answered the phone. "Michael?"

"Robin, how are you? I thought you dropped off the face of the earth."

"Did you get my message the other night?"

"No, I didn't, as a matter of fact."

"Who's that woman answering your phone?"

"Oh, that's Gina. She's an old friend who sort of needed a place to stay for a while. She's in between places, and it's a long story, but I'm trying to help her get back on her feet."

"So she's living there with you?"

"Temporarily. She's a friend, Robin."

"Where's she sleeping?"

"Robin? I'm surprised at you. If I wasn't hearing right, I'd swear you were jealous."

"I'm not jealous. Jealous of what? I don't have any reason to be jealous of anybody."

"I know."

"How long will she be staying with you?"

"Probably through the end of the month."

"A month!"

He was actually chuckling. "Robin, take it easy. You're making me feel great, you know."

"I'm not trying to make you feel great. I thought you wanted t
o s
ee me."

"I do."

"With a woman staying in your house?"

"She's sleeping in the guest room, if that's any consolation."

"Women creep at night just like men," I said.

"Robin, look. Let me take you to dinner on Friday, and I'll explain the whole scenario to you."

"What time?"

"Is seven good for you?"

"Seven is fine."

"I'll pick you up then at seven," he said. I could still hear how amused he was.

I don't know why I agreed to have dinner with him, when I really didn't feel like it. Maybe because it was just something to do. Something to break up the monotony. Something to stop me from thinking about Russell's bullshit.

On Friday at seven o'clock I was flipping through my latest Spiegel catalog, waiting for Michael. At seven-thirty I had turned back the corners of at least eight pages of these sexy bras and panties and a sheer silk chiffon nightshirt I pictured myself in. By seven forty-five I picked up the phone and ordered everything from those turned- back pages. I put it on my company's American Express, knowing good and well I couldn't afford any of this stuff. By eight o'clock, I was pissed. Are his fingers broken or something? Couldn't he have called and said he'd be late?

I picked up the phone and dialed his number. That woman answered the phone again. "Hello, this is Robin. Is Michael there?"

"Yes, he is," she said. I couldn't believe it.

Michael came to the phone.

"Well?" I said.

"Well, what?" he said.

"It's eight o'clock."

"I know that, Robin. What's wrong? You sound mad."

"Michael, you were supposed to be here at seven."

"Damn it! I knew there was something I was forgetting! I'm sorry, Robin. I'm so sorry. Things've been so hectic in my department, it completely slipped my mind. Can I get a rain check?"

"A rain check? You mean you can't make it?"

"I'm eating dinner."

"With what's-her-name?"

"Her name is Gina."

"Whatever," I said.

"Look, Robin. She cooked this meal for me, and it wouldn't be very considerate of me to leave in the middle of it. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Yeah, I understand. But what am I supposed to do while you sit there eating dinner with your friend?"

"I said I'd make it up to you. What more do you want me to say?"

"Forget it, Michael."

"What about sometime late next week?" he asked.

"Late next week?"

"I have to go to L
. A
. for two days on Monday, and when I get back I've got a ton of client meetings. I won't be free until Thursday."

"Then what day's good for you?"

"How about Friday?"

"Enjoy your meal," I said. "I'll see you on Friday."

After I hung up, I couldn't believe I was actually jealous of this woman. Color me desperate, because nobody was more surprised than I was by my attitude. But next week is next week. What about tonight? I needed somebody tonight.

Troy answered the phone before it registered in my brain that I was even thinking about calling him.

"Robin," he said. "It's good to hear from you. I've been thinking about you for weeks. What's happening?"

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Watching the baseball game. Kicking back. Why, what'd you have in mind?"

"You wanna watch it over here?"

"I'm on my way."

Chapter
18

Bernadine couldn't stand being in this big house by herself. She thought she'd be grateful for the peace and quiet, but when she came home from work, the house felt like a mausoleum. Worse than empty. A house was meant for kids, she thought, and so was she. She couldn't figure out what to do with herself now that they were with John. The weekends had been easy to handle, but it was summer vacation, and they'd been gone for four whole weeks. She couldn't remember the last time she spent so much time by herself, the last time she had time to herself. She was trying to remember what she used to do wit h h erself before she got married and had kids. Her mind kept drawing a blank.

And Herbert. What a pain in the ass he turned out to be. She would've been better off if she never fucked him. He'd gotten on her nerves, calling her two and three times a day, wondering where she was when she wasn't with him. She reminded him that he had a wife he should be worrying about, and not her. All he'd done was confirm what Bernadine didn't know was true anymore: that she was still desirable, that she still had the power to pull, and that she could still make a man cry out in bed. It took two weeks for Herbert to profess his love for her. Bernadine was more amused than anything. She was actually grinning while her legs and arms were wrapped around him and she was staring out the window at a cardinal perched on the windowsill. He'd done some of everything for her, but she refused to suck his dick. "Let your wife do that. Or whoever," she'd said. And Herbert didn't press her.

"But I love you," he'd said again last week, after Bernadine finally told him they should chill out for a while. "You don't love me, Herbert; you love the chase." Of course he denied this and tried his damnedest to convince her that he was bored with his wife, that as soon as his son graduated from high school-which would be in two years-he would leave her. "Look, Herbert," she said, "this has been a lot of fun, but I don't love you. And even if I did, I wouldn't marry you." But Herbert didn't believe her. Bernadine thought he'd made the mistake women were often guilty of: confusing orgasms with love. "Why not?" he wanted to know. "For two reasons," she said. "First of all, Herbert, you cheat on your wife, which means you'd probably cheat on me too." Of course Herbert said that wouldn't be the case. He loved her and did not love his wife anymore. "And second of all," she went on, "I don't want to marry anybody. Period." Herbert didn't believe her.

As far as Bernadine was concerned, they'd had a good time, so what was he complaining about? The only thing she wanted from him was between his legs. She assumed that Herbert must've thought he was giving her more than that. He was probably hoping she'd fall madly in love with him and go crazy. But she hadn't. Herbert didn't have a clue that on those dry nights when Bernadine needed to get her parts oiled, she simply knew who to call. She used him. But s o w hat? That's what they'd been doing to women for years, she thought. Taking advantage of us.

But Herbert was the kind of man who wouldn't take no for an answer. He knew the kids were gone. And he kept calling. Bernadine didn't want to be bothered, and wanted to make it clear she wasn't going to break down in a moment of weakness, so she left the answering machine on to screen her calls and refused to take his calls at work.

She was sitting on the couch, reading Essence magazine. It took thirty- five minutes to finish it. Bernadine was glad when she had to go to the bathroom; it gave her an excuse to get up and move. Once she got in there, she noticed there was toothpaste in the sink, so she got out the Fantastik and started cleaning. Before she knew it, she had cleaned all the mirrors, the tub, the glass shower stall, and inside the toilet. And she wasn't finished. She still had plenty of unused energy and nothing else to do with it. When she saw the handmarks on the wall, she was seriously thinking about going down to Ace Hardware and buying some paint, but they were closed.

Bernadine almost wished they still had Champ, their last dog. But like the eight or nine other pets they'd had-hamsters, gerbils, rabbits, rats, cats, and four lizards-Champ didn't last. He was a Rottweiler. Bernadine had told John that the kids wanted a dog, not a bear, and Champ wasn't the kind of pet they needed. "They're not pit bulls, Bernadine, my God," he said. "They just get big, but they're friendlier than a cocker spaniel. You'll see."

Champ bit John junior with his "baby teeth" when he was only four months old and weighed a mere forty-two pounds. Onika slapped the shit out of him every time he acted like he wanted to lick her. She didn't like him, and he didn't like her. They were jealous of each other. If Champ saw Bernadine doing anything with Onika- coloring, reading, helping her clean her room-he would jump up on Onika's bedroom window and paw at it from outside. And he barked. And barked. And barked. It got so that John junior stopped feeding him, because despite the fact that they'd sent him to obedience school, Champ continued to jump up and knock the boy down.

By the time Champ was eight months old, he weighed ninety- five pounds. He liked Bernadine. She was the one who fed him lams and Science Diet, walked him, rubbed his ears, and scratched under his chin. But Champ hated his leash. One day, after they'd finished their routine walk on the exercise trail, he wouldn't let her put it back on. "Champ, come," Bernadine commanded. But Champ wouldn't come. He looked at her and kept walking. "Champ, come," she said again, only firmer. Champ kept on about his business: running into other people's front yards, circling their trees to pee, and trampling their flowers. Bernadine put her hands on her hips and yelled, "Champ, I said come!" But he just sat down on the sidewalk and started looking around as if he was bored. She walked toward him. He didn't move. When she got right in front of him and reached for his collar, Champ's neck turned with such speed that by the time Bernadine saw his teeth about to cover her hand, she rammed her fist deep inside his mouth, grabbed him by his collar, put his leash on, slapped him on the head, and said, "Baddog." On the way home, she didn't have to tell Champ to heel, as she usually did. When they got in front of the garage and Bernadine told him to sit, Champ sat. "You must be losing your damn mind," she said, "trying to bite me" Champ looked ashamed and licked her hand as if to apologize.

"Get rid of him, or me and the kids go," she told John.

"Don't be ridiculous."

This time, Bernadine didn't wait for his consent. It took three whole days before John even noticed Champ was gone. He was mad as hell, because he'd spent twelve hundred dollars on that dog. But the kids were happy. Happy with their new guinea pig, which lasted all of three weeks before it died of consumption.