Diary of a Mistress (5 page)

Monica slammed the diary shut. She could not believe what she was reading. After a minute, she started laughing to herself uncontrollably. She figured somebody was playing games with her, trying to mess up her marriage. Me and my husband are absolutely happy. This jealous bitch don’t know what she’s talkin’ about. She should have really got her facts straight before she tried to pull one on me. I have to call Rita and tell her about this shit.

“Well, hello, there. How was Marco Island? Did you fulfill all your fantasies?” Rita sang into the phone.

“Hey, Rita. I had a wonderful time. And I still got some bones to pick with you, miss. Keeping a secret like that from me. I’m shocked!”

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy. I still got blisters from biting my tongue,” Rita said.

“Well, anyway, I’ll have to tell you about the trip later, but guess what I got in the mail?” Monica began.

“If you anything like me, bills and cheap thrills.”

“Oh, but this is the best cheap thrill you gonna ever hear about.”

“What?”

“Why did some chick send me one of Carlos’s sweatshirts—”

“What?” Rita butted in.

“Wait. Hold up. That’s not it. Underneath the shirt was a diary,” Monica continued.

“A diary?”

“Yes. At first I thought it was something from Carlos because he’s been in this surprising mood lately, and it didn’t have a return address on it. But I opened the diary and started reading, and it’s a woman talking about messing around with people’s husbands. And not only that: my husband is one of them.”

“You lyin’,” Rita gasped.

“Rita, I lie to you not. But the funny thing about it is she’s talkin’ about stuff that ain’t true. Like for instance,” Monica started to explain as she opened the diary, “she talks about how Carlos told her we’re having problems and on the verge of divorce.”

“Oh, well, there you have it. It’s a prank. You know like I know, for every one happy woman there’s one thousand miserable ones just waiting to take her place,” Rita concluded. “I would like to know which miserable one is bold enough to send some shit to your home. She don’t say her name in there anywhere?”

Monica began to scan the pages in search of the woman’s identity.

Her voice was muffled as she read aloud, “ ‘September 20th, 2000—’ ”

Rita cut her off, “2000! She’s talkin’ about shit that happened four years ago. Oh, please.”

“I know, right.” Monica chuckled. “Listen to this. ‘Dear Diary: Carlos and I are really hitting it off. He’s a romantic. Today he met me outside of my job with a bouquet of white roses. He said it was just something small to celebrate our one-month anniversary.’ ”

“One-month anniversary? Is it really that serious?” Rita burst into laughter. “Like a man would really put out the time and effort to make plans for a one-month anniversary. Shit, it’s hard enough to remember his yearly anniversary with his wife, let alone some month-by-month shit with some side dish! Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me. This chick is tryin’ hard to piss you off, Monica. Read the rest. This shit is crackin’ me up.”

Monica chuckled at Rita’s comments, but inside she was feeling insecure. She thought herself that the diary was made up and sent by some jealous woman, but her husband’s shirt was still an unsolved mystery. She couldn’t help but wonder how this unknown female got her hands on Carlos’s clothing. She continued reading.

“ ‘He had reservations for us at a bistro in Jersey. I really enjoyed myself. It was easy for me to forget he was married. After dinner we drove to a deserted location where we just watched the stars and talked. It was very late when he dropped me off at my car, which was parked back at my job. He politely kissed me on my lips and drove off. He was a perfect gentleman. I felt bad for his wife because she was losing a good man. But some relationships just aren’t meant to last.’ ”

“Um, um, um. What other bullshit is in that book?” Rita asked.

Monica skimmed through the pages. “Oh, here goes something from 2001,” she said, feeding Rita’s frenzy.

“ ‘December 28, 2001. Dear Diary: Last year Carlos had to spend Christmas with his family. But this year he said he would spend the holidays with me. He had a well-thought-out plan too. He told his wife he would spend the early part of the day with her and the kids and then drive down to Florida to spend some time with his mother and brother. He knew his wife would avoid any chance to visit his mom because they didn’t get along with each other. As for his boys, Monica was still at the point where she didn’t trust them being anywhere without her. So he knew it wouldn’t seem suspicious if he took the drive alone. His wife fell for it. Shit, let that had been me. I would have checked his mileage. But anyway, he came to my apartment around six o’clock Christmas Day. I had a good meal prepared, some Cornish hens, sweet potatoes, rice and gravy, sliced ham, collard greens, and cranberry sauce. For dessert, I baked an apple pie and served it with vanilla ice cream. We ate dinner then went out for a movie in Langhorne. Once we got back to my place we finally made love.’

“Oh, no, see, now she’s takin’ it too far,” Monica said.

“Keep readin’. This is the good part,” Rita jumped in.

“Rita, how did she know about that Christmas?”

“I don’t know, but let’s find out. Keep readin’,” Rita instigated.

“ ‘It’s been a whole year and we’ve spent a lot of time together, you know, whenever his wife would go to the nursing home to see her dad, and the time she went to Texas for her family reunion, but he kept saying he wanted to wait until the time was right.’ ” Monica slammed the book shut. The nerve of that son of a bitch, she thought.

“Rita, I do not believe this! She knows a little too much. What if Carlos—”

“Hold up. Now, Monica, you know Carlos like the back of your hand. Don’t you think you would have sensed something, had he been cheating on you all this time? Don’t lose your cool so quick.”

“But she knows entirely too much stuff. Like this, listen to this,” Monica said, as she found a random page in the middle of the book. “It says, ‘March 3, 2002. Dear Diary: Today Carlos stood me up. We were supposed to get together and go down to the casino. But his wife caught mono from one of those kids she teaches.’ Remember that? How would she know that?” Monica asked.

“But plenty of people knew about that,” Rita said.

“Like who? My family and close friends, and a few of his close friends, and the other teachers, of course. But that’s it,” Monica explained.

“Exactly!” Rita said, “It could be a number of people playing with you. I bet you it’s one of them fake-ass teacher friends. Think, who would want to cause problems between you and Carlos?”

Monica ignored Rita’s question. At that point she no longer believed the diary was a hoax like Rita did. Her heart began to beat faster.

“Listen to this,” Monica started up again. “ ‘You won’t believe who I ran into down Penn’s Landing today—Carlos and Monica. This was my first time seeing her. She’s cute. She had on a cute outfit too. Some fitted white pants and a red-and-white halter and some red stilettos. She didn’t look anything like the wholesome schoolteacher Carlos described.’ I remember exactly what day she’s talking about, and nobody we know saw us down there because they would have stopped and spoke,” Monica concluded.

“Well, yeah, I guess so,” Rita agreed. “What else does she say about that day? Maybe there’s a hint in there about who she is.”

Monica read on. “ ‘Carlos looked a little scared like I was going to play his cards in front of his wife. I wanted to real bad, especially now that he hasn’t called me ever since I told him I was…’ Oh, my God, Rita! I will
kill
that man!” Monica shouted.

“What, Monica?” Rita asked.

“This bitch was pregnant by my husband!” Monica yelled. “Rita! Wait ’til he brings his ass in here! I will kill that man! I swear to God!”

At that moment Rita started to take the diary more seriously. She could tell Monica was hurt, and as her best friend she wanted to console her. “Monica, calm down, sweetheart, you still don’t know if this is true or not.”

“It better not be true, Rita! Because if it is, Carlos is a dead man! How could he do something like this to me?”

“Well, where is Carlos now? You should ask him about this,” Rita suggested.

“He went to Mom’s to pick up the boys,” Monica told her.

“Well, I’m coming to get you,” Rita decided.

“For what? I wanna be right here when he gets back so I can…OH! I don’t believe this shit!” Monica shouted, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Monica, you don’t need to be there when he gets there. How you’re feelin’ right now, there’s no tellin’ what you will do when he comes through that door, and you don’t want the boys to be in the middle of all that.” Rita made a rational point.

Monica took into consideration what Rita was saying. Her best friend was right. C.J. and Chris didn’t need to know what was going on. She thought maybe it would be best for her to go over to Rita’s, at least until she calmed down some.

“All right,” Monica said, letting out a sigh. “His ass is lucky I love my sons like I do, otherwise, I swear to God…”

Rita’s row home off of Cottman Avenue wasn’t but ten minutes away from Monica’s. But with it being Labor Day, every other street was blocked off. Rita had to take detours, turning her typically ten-minute drive into a twenty-minute one. And Monica kept her eyes glued to the diary the entire time, not even budging the couple times Rita tried to get her to look at a block party.

When they finally got to Rita’s, Monica plopped into a recliner chair, tucking her feet under her behind. Her face was stained from the mixture of her tears and mascara. She was reading the diary page by page, reciting some parts of it to Rita. She was growing more and more angry with each entry, in complete and utter disbelief at the things that were being revealed about Carlos.

“You need to put that book down. You’ve read enough,” Rita told Monica.

“Before you were tellin’ me to read everything!” Monica shot at her friend.

“Yeah, but that was when it was amusing. The shit ain’t funny no more. It’s hurting you. And it’s hurting me because I can’t address the bitch who’s bringin’ you this drama,” Rita said as she practically slammed a cup of lemonade on a wooden end table beside Monica.

“Listen to this,” Monica said, turning her attention back to the diary, and disregarding Rita’s speech.

Rita sat down on the sofa diagonal from Monica and rolled her eyes. She let out a sigh, but kept silent as she listened to Monica read.

“ ‘I’m three months pregnant with his got damn baby, and he wants me to get an abortion. When I told him I didn’t believe in abortions, he told me that was my problem. He said I would end up raising the kid on my own, and he would never have anything more to do with me. I’m the stupid one, though. I should have figured if he wanted me to get rid of our baby that bad, he must have had no intentions on leaving Monica. He was trying to protect his marriage. He didn’t want his wife to find out about us and definitely not a baby. I should have the damn baby anyway, and I should take his ass to court for child support and see how he likes it. His wife would really be pissed if she had to find out about her husband’s affair in a courtroom. As a matter of fact, I think I’m going to do just that.’ ”

“All right, look. That was in ’02, right? Well, if this is all true and this broad had a baby by your husband, don’t you think she would have executed her plan by now? Why hasn’t she taken Carlos to court? I know I would, wife or not!” Rita said, still trying to discredit the diary.

Meanwhile Monica’s eyes had not lifted from the pages.

“ ‘October 12th, 2002. Dear Diary: Tonight was the final straw. He knows I’m pregnant—five months at that. I’m showing and everything, and he still had the nerve to put his hands on me. He was upset that I still hadn’t gotten the abortion, and he was worried that it was too late, but under no circumstances should a man put his hands on a woman, especially while she’s carrying his child. He grabbed me by my hair and threw me onto the floor. He told me that if I didn’t get rid of my baby on my own, he would do it for me. Well, I snapped. I told him that I was going to have the baby and introduce him to his brothers and see how his wife would react. That did it. He took both of his huge, masculine hands and wrapped them around my neck so tight. I was sure I would die right there in his arms. That’s the one time I can say I was thankful he had a wife, because she called his cell phone at that very moment. She told him she needed him to come home because one of their sons had a fever. He left immediately. And somehow, I feel like I owe that woman my life.’ ”

Monica closed the diary and let it fall in her lap. She held her face in her hands and cried. She was learning things about her husband that scared her. How could a man she knew so well lead another life as someone she didn’t know at all? It was a hard pill to swallow. Carlos had been more than a good husband to her, and the love they shared for each other was immeasurable. She could not understand how he could do the things the diary described. She badly wanted to write it all off, but the information and the details the woman provided made that impossible.

Immediately, she started thinking of all the times Carlos had made excuses to be away from her, all the times he came home late from work, and all the times he didn’t answer his cell phone. She was sure he was with his mistress on those occasions. She then started thinking about all the good times she and Carlos spent together and how he kept her extremely happy and how great a father he was. Was it all done to keep her blinded from his affair? Was it was all an act? He had been playing one role with her and another with his mistress all to be able to have his cake and eat it too. And I fell right into it, she thought, I should have known he was too good to be true.

Rita had been rubbing Monica on her back as she cried. “It’s going to be all right. Once you talk to Carlos and hear what he has to say about this, and you calm down some, I bet he’ll clear this up, and we’ll all look back at this day and laugh. Just put the book on hold until after you talk to your husband. It could all be a misunderstanding,” Rita said, desperate to comfort her friend.

Monica shook her head from left to right and mumbled, “I have to know everything before I approach him.”

Straightening up and wiping away her tears with her trembling hands, she retrieved the diary from between her knees and opened it again.

Her voice shaking uncontrollably and light tears escaping her eyes, she read, “ ‘March 30th, 2003. Dear Diary: I thought I would be over Carlos after not having any dealings with him for so long. After that night in my apartment, back in October, I didn’t want shit to do with his crazy ass. And I guess the feeling was mutual because he hasn’t called me at all. He didn’t even call to see if I had went through with terminating my pregnancy. I’m glad though. He probably would have really killed me after seeing that I never got the abortion. I was almost six months pregnant when I finally consulted a doctor, and he talked me out of it. Thank God. He said I was too far along and it would be too risky. He went over all of my other options, and adoption seemed to be the best thing for the baby and me. So for the remainder of my pregnancy I avoided Carlos. I couldn’t let him see me pregnant. I was fearful of what he might do. But I wish I didn’t have to go through that experience alone. I had terrible morning, noon, and night sickness in my first trimester. Then in my third trimester, I developed what they call gestational diabetes. I was considered high-risk and had to eat a special diet and give myself finger pricks to check my sugar all the time. Then, on top of all that, I was depressed, wishing I hadn’t made the mistake of involving a child in my mess. As bad as I wanted a baby, I regretted getting pregnant under such fucked-up circumstances. I beat myself up about it. I was miserable, and I felt so alone. I didn’t have anyone in my corner. And the couple of people who may have been helpful, like my sister and my housekeeper, I avoided out of embarrassment. I didn’t want anyone to know that I was pregnant, especially by a married man who wanted nothing to do with my baby. I thought I could get through the nine months and give the baby up without anybody ever knowing. Then I had the nerve to believe I could just get on with
my life as if it never happened. I was so wrong. I had Carla Sabrina on March 11th, 2003, at three o’clock in the morning. She was adorable. I never thought I could love another human being as much I loved that baby. For a few seconds after having her I forgot about everything. Looking down at her in my arms, it felt like all my problems had disappeared. I forgot about Carlos and all the bullshit he put me through. I forgot about my recent depression, and I even forgot about agreeing to adoption. Well, maybe I just suppressed all of that. When it came time to give my daughter up, I cried for three days straight. It was the biggest mistake of my life. And to think it was all for a man who could care less about me. Now, I have to live with this—and I have to live with it alone.’ ”