Diary of a Mistress (7 page)
Read Diary of a Mistress Online
Authors: Miasha
Vanessa smiled and told Angela to take care of herself. She wished her luck and continued out the door.
Angela walked down the hall and into her room. She sat down on her bed and stared at the stark white wall. Her thoughts instantly went to Carlos. I wonder what Carlos is doing right now. Is Monica going upside his head yet? Did she leave the house and go to her mom’s? If so, I hope she took the boys. I don’t want Carlos to have any excuses when I tell him I want to see him tomorrow. I hope he doesn’t get mad at me right away. He shouldn’t. He should understand that I did what I did to be with him. And he should appreciate the fact that I made it easier for him to get a divorce. He’ll probably be crying when I call him. I hope so. I will tell him to meet me at my house so we can talk about it. When he gets there, I’ll have candles lit, dinner ready, and be in my sexiest outfit. He’ll forget all about Monica, and when she serves him those papers, he’ll sign without hesitating. Oh God, I can’t wait.
Angela knelt down on the floor and put her elbows on her bed. She bowed her head and prayed: Thank you, God, for all of your true and wonderful blessings. Thank you for a good day. Thank you for getting me through this week. Dear God, please let everything go my way tomorrow. Please let my sister and Dr. Whitaker be there. Please let the panel recognize that I have changed. Please let them see my improvement, and please let them discharge me. Please let Carlos take my calls. I need to see him. I need to hear his voice. I need to be near him. God, you know, I’ve never loved a man like I love Carlos. Please, God, make him see that and make him love me back. Amen.
Rita pressed the guide button on her TV remote. The time in the left-hand corner said nine thirty-five. Monica had been at Rita’s house all day long, reading, eating, crying, arguing with Carlos, and occasionally venting to Rita, who had grown exhausted.
“I’m going to put on my pajamas. You want me to bring you down something to put on?” Rita asked as she stood up from the couch and stretched.
“No, I’m okay,” Monica mumbled without looking up from the diary.
“You want a blanket, a pillow, anything?” Rita asked.
“No, I’ll be fine,” Monica said, turning another page.
Dear Diary,
Just when things were going well, I had to fuck it up. I gave Carlos crabs and when I finally told him, he had already given them to his wife and his kids. I felt so ashamed, so embarrassed, and so bad for his kids. That damn David. I knew I should have stopped dealing with him. I knew it was his nasty ass who had given it to me. Carlos didn’t know what he was going to tell his wife when she got home from the doctor. She had her and the kids checked out, and when the doctor told her it was crabs, she flipped. She called Carlos while he was at work, cursing him out. He didn’t even get a chance to get a word out. I told him that that was good because it gave him time to find a good excuse without having to come up with something off the top of his head. I did some research and told Carlos to tell his wife that he had got it from a toilet seat at the gym where he works. That was logical. Shit, so many different people come in and out of gyms, it’s not uncommon to catch something from somebody. And it wasn’t like he had syphilis or something that you can only get from sex. Crabs can come from different things, not necessarily sex. She believed him, but only after she did some research on her own and double-checked with her doctor. I thought Carlos was going to tell me he didn’t want to deal with me anymore after that. But he took it better than I thought he would. I guess because it didn’t put a dent in his relationship with his wife. But his kids, though. I know how much he loves those boys, and I would think he would be ready to fuck me up for putting them in that position. But all he did was make me promise that from then on I would have sex only with him. How ironic, his married, cheatin’ ass asking me, a single woman, for monogamy.
Monica closed the book and gripped it in her hands. She squeezed the book with all her might until her hands hurt.
“Rita!” Monica shouted.
Rita rushed back down the steps. “What, Monica?” Rita asked, worry all over her face.
Monica just sat silently and still while tears poured down her cheeks. She thought back to the time her doctor had told her that she had crabs. She thought back to the looks on her sons’ faces as she put the shampoo on their little bodies. She felt so bad, like she had failed as a mother. She wished she could have protected her children from shit like that. But she never expected to have to protect them from their own father.
“Monica, what? What did he do?” Rita asked, still waiting for a response, trying to break Monica out of the zone she was in.
“He gave my children crabs, Rita,” Monica said slowly and dazedly, as if she were in a trance.
“What do you mean?” Rita asked, her face scrunched up.
Monica began to explain, “He told me he got them from the gym. The doctor even told me that it was possible. But he really got them from her and brought them home to me and my kids.”
Rita’s face produced a look of sorrow as she shook her head in disbelief. She didn’t have any children, but C.J. and Chris were her godsons, and she loved them like they were hers. She didn’t know what to say to Monica. What do you say to something like that, Rita thought, as she shuffled through her mind trying to find the right words.
“I never told you or anybody because I was embarrassed. Plus, I didn’t want to hear the negative thoughts. You know, people telling me that it was bullshit that he got crabs from the gym,” Monica said, still staring into space.
“Well, how did he give them to Chris and C.J.?” Rita was confused and curious.
“That’s the thing about crabs; they can get in bedsheets and clothes. That’s why I believed his ass when he told me he got them from the gym. Even the doctor said he could have gotten them from a toilet seat or some equipment,” Monica told Rita.
Monica wiped her face with her hands. She looked over at Rita, shaking her head. “Rita,” she sang, as if she was warning Rita of something, “he really did it with this one.”
Monica’s left leg was shaking vigorously. She was furious. She loved her two kids to death and would kill for them, as she thought any mother would. She kept picturing the time when her sons would scratch and squirm, irritated by their condition. She wasn’t concerned so much about herself, it was her children she felt bad for. How could he bring something my kids’ way and then continue on with that bitch like it was nothing? How trifling is that, Monica thought.
Rita was shocked speechless. If Monica had kept the crabs situation from her, Rita was sure there were other incidents that may have pointed to Carlos’s cheating that Monica had failed to tell her about as well.
“And this is the man I trusted with my life. The way shit is being spread these days, I could have gotten AIDS from him, my own husband. It’s not supposed to be like that. A married woman—or man, for that matter—should not have to worry about shit like that. I shouldn’t have to make my own husband wear a condom. That’s a part of what marriage is all about; it’s sacred. You should be able to trust your spouse with your life,” Monica vented. “I need to talk to my kids,” Monica said, reaching for the phone. “I need to hear their voices.”
Monica dialed the number to her house, and C.J. picked up.
“Hello,” C.J. said softly.
“Hi, honey,” Monica sang, sniffling like she had a cold.
“Mom-my,” C.J. sang back. “Where are you? You coming home?” he asked.
“Mommy is visiting Pop-Pop,” Monica lied. “I’ll be home in the morning bright and early with breakfast for you and your brother.”
“Chocolate-chip pancakes?” C.J. asked excitedly.
“Whatever you want,” Monica said. “Now let me speak to Christopher.”
“Hold on,” C.J. said.
“Hello.” Monica heard Christopher’s voice.
“Hey, Chris,” Monica said, trying hard to keep from crying. “You and C.J. get ready for bed, and Mommy will see you in the morning when she leaves Pop-Pop’s. I love you two, and I want you both to have sweet dreams, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy, we love you too,” Christopher said.
“Monica, don’t hang up,” Carlos butted in. “Hello?”
Monica heard Carlos’s voice, but she hung up anyway. Rita took the phone from her and put it on the receiver. She then began locking her house, closing windows and curtains, and getting ready for bed. Meanwhile, Monica sat in the same spot, seemingly paralyzed, her eyes glued to the pages of Angela’s diary.
Dear Diary,
I want to scream! Matter of fact, I am screaming! All right, let me slow down and catch my breath. I want to start from the beginning. Carlos invited me to dinner. We went to the Cheesecake Factory. Nothing too fabulous, but nice enough. Right after we had our entrées, while we were waiting for our dessert, our waiter told me I had a phone call. I was confused, not knowing who could possibly be calling me. My sister didn’t know I was there, and there was no one else in my life who would bother to call me at home let alone at a restaurant. I excused myself from the table and followed the waiter to the phone.
As soon as I picked up and said hello, a voice on the other end recited the words, “Will you marry me?” All I could do was smile. I couldn’t even answer, I was so happy. I was frozen in place. The waiter then came over to me with a small crystal jar of mints. He held it out to me and asked if I would like one. I looked in the jar, still holding the phone to my ear. There was a gorgeous diamond engagement ring. I held my hand over my mouth. My eyes lit up like stars. The waiter took the ring out of the jar and placed it on my finger. Meanwhile, Carlos was on the other end of the phone waiting for my response. Well? he asked me. I told him yes. Then we met in the middle of the restaurant, where we hugged each other tight. Waiters and waitresses were clapping, and people were congratulating us. Little did everybody know, Carlos already had a wife.
“He proposed to his mistress, bought her a diamond ring and all. And did it at the Cheesecake Factory at that,” Monica said, apparently unfazed.
“What if somebody you knew was in there and seen his trifling ass proposing to some other chick?” Rita asked, disgusted.
“I guess it didn’t matter to him. He must have thought he was invincible by this time. He had done so much before this and got away with it,” Monica hypothesized.
“Monica, you need to divorce his ass so fast,” Rita said, completely pissed off.
“Oh, trust me, it’s done. First thing in the morning,” Monica affirmed.
“Take his ass for everything you can,” Rita said. “And I thought there was at least one good man left in this world,” she added.
“Believe me, Rita, I thought so too. Carlos never really gave me any reasons to think he was having an affair. He was like the perfect husband. How could he do this? I mean, he had to feel guilty at some point, right?” Monica asked, trying to make sense of her husband’s behavior.
“Well, shit, he probably didn’t feel guilty because you were so happy. As long as you and those kids had a smile on y’alls faces, and were well taken care of, he was satisfied. What he did on the side didn’t affect his household, so he probably felt like it was just fine,” Rita said, drawing her own conclusion.
“But proposing to the woman? That’s going a little too far, don’t you think?” Monica asked.
“Well, did he really plan on marrying her? And if so, why didn’t he? Shit, what you really need to know is when the affair ended and why.” Rita pointed out.
“I don’t even know that it did end,” Monica retorted.
“Oh, trust me, it ended. Otherwise she wouldn’t have sent you this shit. He must have really pissed her off for her to pull a stunt like this,” Rita stated with confidence.
Monica reopened the diary to the page where she had left off. Rita had a point. Monica wanted to know when her husband had broken the relationship off and why. She read on.
It was almost midnight. Rita was stretched out on her sofa, sound asleep. The house was completely dark with the exception of the blue tint that kept switching from bright to dark on the TV and a dim light from a side-table lamp next to Monica’s chair. She was still scrunched up in the same recliner she had been in for hours. And she was still reading.
Dear Diary,
The shit is hitting the fan. Carlos has really fucked up now. I don’t understand him. One minute we’re perfect and he’s doing everything right. Then the next minute he does something that threatens our relationship. We were planning our wedding. I know, I know, his ass should have been planning a divorce. But that was to be taken care of well before our date. Anyway, we were happy with each other. It was like we went back to the beginning before any drama. We were going out a lot, eating, seeing movies, going to comedy shows and concerts. We were spending a lot of time together. His wife thought he was in San Diego on business for two months. He had told her he was offered a deal from a production company on the West Coast to shoot his own workout video. She was so happy for him. She knew that it was always his dream to have his own workout videos. It was big money in that. Anyway, he wasn’t in California for those two months. He was living with me. We wanted to try it out and see how we would get along cohabitating, especially before the wedding. It went fine too. But no sooner did he leave my house than he did something to fuck up everything. I got a phone call from him one night. He said he needed to see me really bad, and he had something he wanted to talk to me about. I got out of my bed—mind you, it was three o’clock in the morning—and I met him at Silk City. We sat down and placed our orders. I knew Carlos had done something stupid just from the look on his face. He looked so sad, almost depressed. I kept asking him what was the problem, but he procrastinated answering me. So after a while I said to hell with it. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. We ate our food and drank our hot chocolates. Then we sat in silence, both stuffed as pigs. I would glance at him every few seconds to see if he was ready to talk. But he said nothing. He just glanced back at me, occasionally reaching across the table to caress my hands. He finally decided to open his mouth after stroking his goatee a few times. He started off by telling me the obvious. He had fucked up. I told him I figured that much. He proceeded to tell me just
how he had fucked up, and this was the part that I wasn’t prepared for. He told me that he slept with someone else. Now I know it was not my place to be upset, considering I was well aware of the fact that I wasn’t his one and only. But somehow, I felt some type of way. I felt like I had been cheated on. In a way I had, though. I mean, I was wearing a ring and planning a wedding with this man. Anyway, I swallowed my pride and just listened. I didn’t snap on him like I wanted to. Shit, if he wanted somebody to flip out on him he would have gone home and told his wife, so I pretended it was all right. He was confiding in me as a friend, so I had to play my part as such. I had to step outside of the fiancée role. But when he told me that he had just finished and that was where he was coming from, the “bitch” came flying out of me. I gave him a look that could have killed his ass. I walked out of the diner without saying a word to him. I couldn’t stand to look at him knowing he had just got finished fucking somebody else and it wasn’t his wife. He followed me to my car, begging for my forgiveness. I wanted to know one thing. Who was she? He told me to think back to his mother’s funeral. He told me it was the woman who sat beside his wife. He told me that was why he felt so bad and that was why he couldn’t go home. He could fuck me all he wanted and still face his wife with a smile. But he had just fucked her best friend. Now that was a different story. He didn’t know how he would be able to face his wife after that.
Monica stopped reading and looked up over at her sleeping friend. Her mouth dropped as she tried to piece together what she had just read. Maybe I read it wrong, she thought. Maybe she’s talking about some other woman. There were plenty of women at his mom’s funeral. She continued reading.
I asked him why he did it. What made him sleep with his wife’s best friend. He couldn’t give me a reason. He said he was a little tipsy. But he and I both knew that wasn’t an excuse. I was confused myself. I could see if this broad looked better than his wife or something. But she didn’t have anything on Monica. She was short and round, with no pizzazz. I met her one day when she came to the gym. He told her I was one of his clients. She was cute in the face but overweight, and his wife looked a lot better. That made me realize that men didn’t cheat for better but for different.
Monica was in complete disarray. She didn’t want to believe that her best friend had slept with her husband. She kept trying to convince herself that it was another woman, not Rita, who was being talked about in the diary. But Rita was short and round, and she was the only woman sitting next to Monica at Carlos’s mother’s funeral. And she was Monica’s only best friend. She had associates, of course, but only one best friend. So who else could this woman be describing? No one. It was simple. Rita had slept with Carlos. Monica let the information register. She kept repeating it over and over again in her head until she felt herself getting sick.
Monica looked up again at Rita sleeping. She was so comfortable and peaceful, probably dreaming sweet, Monica thought. How could she get any sleep knowing what she had done? Who the hell did she think she was, criticizing Carlos and being ready to fight this woman for messing with my husband, when she had done the very same thing? How dare she talk down about Carlos or his mistress? She was my best fucking friend. My husband was going to be a damn dog regardless, but
she
was my best friend. There’s no excusing her, Monica thought.
“Rita,” Monica said, as she crossed the room and tapped her friend’s shoulder.
Rita opened her eyes slowly. She managed to lift her head just a little as she woke up from a cozy sleep. “Hahn?” she whispered.
Whop!
Monica punched Rita right in her face, knocking her head back down on the pillow it had previously been resting on. For a minute Rita was dazed. She thought she was dreaming. She finally got herself together and managed to get on her feet. Feeling moisture on her upper lip, she gently touched her nose then looked at her finger. She was bleeding. In total shock, she looked over at Monica, who was standing a short distance away with her fists balled and legs planted in a fighting stance.
“What the fuck was that about?” Rita asked, bewildered.
Monica was mad. As a matter of fact, she was beyond mad. She picked up the lamp that had provided the dim light by which she had read the diary.
“What are you doing? MONICA, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKIN’ MIND?” Rita screamed.
Monica threw the lamp at her friend, just missing her.
“MONICA!” Rita shouted.
Rita positioned herself as if she was ready to fight. She didn’t know what was going on, and she really didn’t want to have to hurt her girlfriend, but she had to defend herself.
“Come on, bitch!” Monica said, tears beginning to fall down her face.
Rita was confused. “What the fuck is up with you? What are you trippin’ over?” Rita asked, trying to avoid any further physical contact.
“You fucked Carlos, didn’t you!”
Monica shouted.
Rita had a stunned look on her face. She never expected that.
“Didn’t you, you fuckin’ ho. You fuckin’ trick,” Monica wept.
Rita didn’t know what to say. Her mind was racing. She was worried about her friend, but she was worried about her house and herself as well. She didn’t want it to come down to her and Monica rolling around like some simple-ass little girls in the middle of her living room. But she wasn’t about to let Monica fuck up her house either.
“Monica, calm down and tell me what’s going on, okay?” Rita said with frustration.
“No! Fuck that! You fucked my husband! And you call yourself a friend? You ain’t no friend of mine! You’re a fuckin’ whore!” Monica screamed, still weeping.
Rita kept her distance, and despite her anger at the situation, she tried to calm her friend.
“Monica, I am your friend,” Rita said, taking a step toward her. “I wouldn’t do no shit like that. I knew you since the fourth grade!”
“That’s the sad part, Rita! You were my best friend since I was nine years old. You was there when I met Carlos. You was my bridesmaid! You’re my kids’ god-mom! Don’t fuckin’ come near me, Rita! I swear to God, Rita. I will fuckin’ hurt you!”
Rita took another step toward Monica. She knew Monica was upset, but she doubted her friend would do as she threatened. First of all, Rita was sure she could beat Monica. Monica wasn’t the fighting type, and besides, Rita had about fifty pounds on her. Second, she didn’t believe Monica had it in her to swing on her again.
“Monica,” Rita said as she held her arms out as if to hug her.
Monica swung her hands at Rita, and grazed Rita’s extended arms.
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Monica screamed. She picked up a framed picture of Rita that sat on the same side table as the lamp Monica had thrown.
“ALL RIGHT, ENOUGH IS FUCKIN’ ENOUGH,” Rita shouted, no longer able to control her anger.
“What the fuck are you going to do?” Monica asked, further provoking Rita.
Rita leaped at her friend and grabbed for the picture. But Monica quickly threw the picture at Rita, hitting her in the face. Rita went off. She started swinging on Monica. Monica swung back wildly and out of control. The two of them ended up tumbling over Rita’s recliner chair, knocking it on its side, and landing on the floor. Rita was on top, pushing Monica’s face into the carpet. Rita had tried to get up off of her, but Monica had a grip on her hair. So, with one hand she held Monica’s face to the floor, and with the other she tried to detangle Monica’s delicate, manicured fingers from her hair. Rita stood up and quickly reached for the phone. Meanwhile, Monica was getting up and gathering her things that were scattered about, including the diary.
“I’m calling the police,” Rita said, out of breath, pressing 911 quickly.
“What the fuck, you gonna have me arrested?” Monica shouted, as she looked around for her pocketbook.
“That’s right! I’ma have ya ass arrested,” Rita said. She had lost any sympathy she had for Monica. She looked around at her trashed living room and Monica became her worst enemy.
Monica put down the diary and jumped at Rita, starting the fight again. Rita defended herself, raising the phone against Monica’s face. Monica tried to block it, but failed. The phone clocked her right in the mouth, drawing blood. Monica was furious. She started swinging on Rita again, striking her all over. The police dispatcher could be heard screaming hello repeatedly, while the phone lay faceup on the floor. All the while Monica and Rita were brawling in the middle of Rita’s living room.
Within a short period of time the police arrived at Rita’s front door. Rita was right there to greet them.
“GET HER OUT OF HERE! GET HER OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Rita demanded of the police officer.
“Ma’am, would you like to press charges?” one of the officers asked Rita as the other officer removed Monica from Rita’s front steps.
Rita thought about it. She knew if she said yes, Monica would be hauled off to jail, and even though she was pissed enough she couldn’t care less if Monica spent the night in a cell, she really didn’t want that. She still had love for Monica. She was her best friend; she was family.
“No, I don’t need to press charges. Just get her the hell away from here,” Rita responded.
“Let me get my stuff!” Monica yelled from the pavement.
“Does she have belongings here?” the officer asked Rita.
“Here,” Rita said, handing the cop Monica’s pocketbook.
“What about my book?” Monica screamed, crying uncontrollably.
Rita walked back inside her house to retrieve the diary.
“Here! Take this shit. It got you going crazy, looking like a damn fool!” Rita shouted. She threw the diary down to Monica from her porch.
The officer put his finger up to his lips, signaling Rita to keep quiet. The other officer picked the diary up off the ground and handed it to Monica.
One officer turned to Monica and began to explain, “Now, she’s not gonna press charges. So you won’t be going to jail tonight. But you’re gonna have to leave her property.”
“That’s fine. That’s fine. I wanna go home. I wanna see my children. I just want my children,” Monica cried.
