Naughty or Nice (28 page)

“Yeah. Cathy at Hands in Motions hooks mine up.”

“Any way I can get her number?”

“Sure. She'll hook you up real good.”

We walked out together, stopped in the Christmas sunshine, started talking. No mack talk, no slick dialogue, just talking the way two people talked. He was divorced. New in town from the 205, Ruebenville, the place formerly known as Birmingham. Alone on Christmas.

I said, “Well, if you don't have anywhere to eat, you're more than welcome to come and eat with me and my family.”

“I'd like that. I really would.”

We exchanged numbers.

My blues exited stage right.

The moment I stopped looking for my keys, I think I found them.

I
drove five minutes away to the other side of Ladera. Went to my home, gifts in my hands. Tony was at the hospital, that's what the schedule on the refrigerator said. After visiting my parents, after being around Tommie and Blue, I had wanted to see my husband, try to talk to him about the state of our marriage. Just tell him I had his back, that we'd work through this ordeal with Miesha and her mom. Life has had harder challenges.

I heard the whirs before it came from around the corner.

Without looking I said, “Hey, Roomba.”

On cue, Roomba whirred into the room, bouncing off the wall, cleaning the carpet.

“Sorry I kicked you the other day . . . but you know how it gets sometimes.”

The mail was on the counter next to a few dirty dishes. Tony had brought it in for a change. I put the dishes in the dishwasher, looked over the mail.

A present was on the counter too. A present for me, wrapped in golden paper with a red ribbon. Not the best wrapping job, but the shoddy kind of wrapping job Tony always did.

I tore the paper away.

It was a court document. From the district attorney. My heart dropped and I felt the inevitable barreling toward me. Tony had wrapped up the divorce papers, bypassed having me served,
left them for me as a present. I was about to lose it, about to scream. Then I read the papers. Not divorce papers. The results from Tony's paternity test. At first I was a different kind of angry, then my jaw dropped. Over and over, I reread the results.

It said zero percent, excluded.

I had to adjust, think what that meant.

Zero
percent.

The child wasn't his.

Just like that, I started shaking my head and crying.

I hurried to the phone and dialed Tony's cellular.

He answered on the first ring. “Livvy?”

“Tony . . .” I paused a long time. “I have . . . I have . . .”

“Merry Christmas.”

I swallowed. “I have the papers in my hand.”

“Not my kid.”

“When did this—?”

“Yesterday. I got the papers yesterday. We hadn't heard anything because the kid wasn't mine. The system . . . guess it's kind of slow. Or the system is backed up.”

“This . . . this . . .”

“It's real, Livvy.”

I read the papers over and over, praying that what I was reading didn't change.

I kept it simple and told Tony, “Still . . . even with this . . . You did a bad thing to us, Tony.”

“I know.”

I paused. “I did too. I haven't been . . . I . . . I . . .” My words faded. “I've done wrong, too.”

It took him a moment before he responded. “Livvy—”

“I'm not saying that one cancels out the other, or that one is greater. I'm just saying that, if you want to try, maybe we can have a second chance.”

“Livvy—”

“So all I'm asking you . . . I'm asking you to not . . . to not do anything that would keep us from having a second chance.”

“I'd never do anything to lose the chance to be with you.”

I chuckled. “Thought you were going to have me served.”

“You know I wouldn't do that. I was angry. Thought that's what you wanted.”

We stopped talking.

I asked my husband, “When are you coming home?”

“Soon—,” Tony started. “Soon as I can.”

“I'll be here. We're going to Frankie's.”

“Okay.”

“And we're going to walk in together.”

It was there in his voice, the sound of relief. His voice cracked when he heard mine do the same, the echo of the fissure in two hearts trying to close, the echo of two people bonding.

He said, “Thought you were done with me.”

“I know.”

“You changed your cell phone number.”

My voice was soft, humble. “I know.”

“Sent you an e-mail. It came back ‘user unknown.' ”

“I know. That e-mail address, it doesn't exist anymore.”

None of who I was . . . none of who I had been . . . that cellular number . . . that e-mail address that Bird used . . . none of that existed anymore. Bird was gone. As if she never had been.

I said, “The fake snow on the lawn . . .”

He laughed. “I know, I know. I overdid it.”

“No, it's pretty . . . and . . . it . . . it looks good under the palm trees.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah. And with the frosted Christmas tree, the lights outside, with everything you've done, we . . . we have the best house on the block.”

Our words were becoming easier, not as distant.

He told me, “I bought you a few presents.”

The court papers were in my hand. Our reprieve.

I said, “I have the best present in the world in front of me.”

“Open one of the gifts I bought for you. The small green box.”

I went to the tree, found that box, and tore away the paper. It
was a silver bracelet adorned with gems and pictures of me, Tommie, Frankie, and our parents.

“Tony, this is beautiful.”

“I bought the same thing for your sisters. Hope you don't mind.”

“Wow, Tony.”

My eyes went from the bracelet and I looked at the gift I had brought inside with me, the small box that was sitting on the counter. After we had left the cemetery this morning, I had rewrapped the gift in pretty green paper and a white bow. Had written Tony's name on it. I said “I brought . . . Tony I bought you a present.”

“I didn't expect anything.”

“Me either.”

Again there was laughter between us. I almost told him his gift was a watch, but I didn't.

Tears were running down my face. My body was so light. With every breath, another boulder rolled off my shoulders. All I could think was that not everybody got a second chance.

He asked, “What are we going to do?”

“We're going to have a wonderful Christmas. Let's start with that.”

“Love you, Livvy.”

“Come home, Tony. Just come home.”

We held the phone for a long time, holding each other for the first time.

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

“Merry Christmas, Livvy.”

Then I pushed the red button.

I smiled.

I closed my eyes. Tried to see my future. In the morning I'd wake up in my marriage bed, on my side, my husband's arm around me, his body spooning up against mine. Maybe after this Depo wore off, we'd start making other plans. But for now, knowing that I would wake up with him in the morning, and the morning after that morning, was all I needed to know.

After I moved and sat in front of the frosted Christmas tree, I remembered a moment I'd had. It was a while ago when I was watching this movie,
Frida
. In it, one of the cynical female characters said that marriage was a happy delusional, that it was about picking who you wanted to irritate the rest of your life. That was bullshit. Momma knew. It was about picking who you want to love the rest of your life, who you want to be buried with until we were all called home.

Like Momma would've said, Mine's ain't perfect.

Sometimes you gotta make your own happy ending.

But there was one more thing I had to do before I earned mine.

I grabbed my coat and my keys, stepped around Roomba, headed to my truck.

I had to go back to Manhattan Beach.

I
doubted Carpe would be there on Christmas. Doubted his wife would be on the prowl on this holy day, but I had my Mace, just in case. Didn't take long to get there. No traffic. All the businesses were closed, but there wasn't much parking on the main streets. The beach parking lots below were getting full. So many people were out in the sand playing volleyball. On the way down Rosecrans, I'd seen people going up and down that monster hill at Sand Dune Park. Joggers were on every street, burning up as many calories as they could before the big meal. A few people were in the ocean on surfboards, Boogie boards, kids and adults zipping by on the concrete trail, testing out their Christmas-new Rollerblades and bicycles.

When I parked on Highland, I sat in my SUV, hand on the door handle, heart beating fast once again, wondering if I should go back to that nest.

Silver key in hand, I walked with my leather coat wide open, defying good judgment and common sense, the scarf on my wounded neck loose. Sweat was on my neck. I felt warm.

When I opened the door to the love nest, she jumped. So did I. She wore a black thong and a red T-shirt. Her eyes sparkled when she saw it was me. Mine did the same.

But still, seeing her caught me off guard. “Hey, Panther.”

“I was worried about you.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

She was lounging on the bed, her suitcase open. The room smelled sweet and hypnotic, just like her. Her sensual eyes and strange grin confirmed that she didn't expect me to be here.

She asked, “Are you okay? I heard about what went down between . . . that bitch.”

“I'm cool.”

“If I had made it here on time, I could've helped you treat her to a beat down.”

My tongue slid across my bottom lip. “It was for the best.”

She asked, “You talked to Carpe?”

“His name is Michael.”

“I know. And you're Olivia.”

That increased my level of discomfort. I drew in a deep breath, let it out.

She got up and came over to me, gave me a two-armed hug. I found that exhilarating. It made parts of me throb in remembrance of things she'd done with her tongue and hands, things I'd never admit. Her skin was moisturized, breath was sweet as peppermint. She tried to kiss me on my lips but I turned my face, gave her my cheek, letting her know that part of my life was over. My abrupt rejection tightened her eyes, then she nodded her head like she understood.

She said, “You came back for him.”

I went to the closet, went through the clothes. Feather-touched all the things he had bought me, all the wonderful gifts fit for a queen. Then I pulled out one pair of shoes.

I told Panther, “I came back for the Blahniks.”

She laughed.

So did I. I had come out on Christmas day and risked my life for these Blahniks. Only a true shoe whore could understand that kind of insanity; her laugh told me she understood.

My words were laden with heaviness, the kind that comes from a great unburdening. I told her that this part of my life was over, that I'd just come back to get these shoes.

Then she wanted to see the injury on my neck, my broken nails, see all the things I wanted to forget and remember at the
same time. I moved her away from that talk of the past, told her about my future, starting with the Christmas present I'd just gotten from Tony.

She said, “So, the baby's not his and you and hubby gonna work it out.”

“Maybe we'll work on having our own now.”

“How cute. Can you trust that guy?”

“We've been together a long time. The love was there. It's still there. Maybe we both needed excitement.” I talked to her the way you talked to a person on a plane trip, the openness and honesty you gave a stranger you'd never see again. I stared at the romanticism in this room, even looked down at the spot where we had marked this territory. I whispered, “Excitement. I was special. He'd do anything to please me. That was what I got from Carpe.”

She said, “He's a great guy.”

“Yeah, too bad I didn't meet him before . . . didn't meet him a few years ago.”

“I know what you mean. Biggest dick, best sex, we never marry that guy, so we have to take what we can get when we can get it.”

We laughed. What I'd just said about wishing I had met Carpe first, I wasn't sure if I meant that. Then I would've been the broken wife who hired a private investigator to follow her adulterous husband around. Maybe, deep down, I'd had my own sex-with-a-stranger fantasy. Now he wasn't a stranger anymore. His name was Michael.

Panther said, “I'm fond of you.”

Her sweet tone, her soft expression, she wasn't making this easy for me.

My eyes went to my bracelet again. To the pictures that represented my reality.

In a good-bye tone I said, “Merry Christmas, Panther.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Again we hugged, her softness against my softness. She smelled good, like sugar and wonderful spices. Her warmth
blended with mine and my breathing became ragged. Goose bumps rose on my arms, moved up and down my spine. Once again she offered me her lips and I lowered my head, this time giving her my forehead. She leaned her head against mine for a moment. She sighed. I put a hand on her shoulder, eased her away, shaking my head. That look of rejection manifested itself in her eyes one more time.

She asked, “Sure you don't want to . . . before you go?”

The tip of my tongue slid across my teeth. “Take care of yourself.”

I took one last look at this space, tossed my silver key on the bed, headed for the door.

“Keep the key, Bird.”

“No.”

“Never know when you might need excitement again.”

“No.”

“If you're worried about his wife, that can be under control in no time.”

“No.”

“Stay. I want you to stay. Spend some time with me.”

I stalled, my hand on the doorknob, nodding and wincing, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look at her, if I didn't remember what had been done, what had been shared, if I didn't think about it. I looked at my left arm, at Tony's gift to me. The silver bracelet with the pictures of my family. Bernard and Momma were smiling up at their little girl. Tommie and Frankie were smiling up at their sister.

I pulled the door open, winter's breeze sneaking in, chilling my warm desires.

She said, “So, you're serious.”

“Take care.”

What I'd done, those erotic experiences that had me trapped between the pangs of guilt and longing, I wouldn't do them over, but I didn't regret them at the same time. I imagined that time to time I'd think about this place and parts of my body would spring to life, become warm, get moist, then I'd smile.
And no one would know why. Maybe somewhere down the road I'd tell my sisters about the things I'd done this December, but I'd leave out the parts about Panther, at least the part that started after the strip club. She was the secret I'd take to my grave.

“When we bought the Blahniks,” Panther said, and her tone had changed, had lost its sweetness. I turned toward her. Lips turned down, arms folded, she went on, “I told him that would take you over the edge. Shoes do that to a woman, you know.”

Her new voice startled me. It had a Southern meanness in its tone.

I blinked a few times; think I might've raised a brow. “
We
bought the Blahniks?”

“Oh, please. Like he knows about shoes. I picked them out. Just like I picked out the decorations here. The music, the colors, the knickknacks; see how well it all goes together.”

I laughed a laugh of uncertainty, one that echoed my sudden confusion. Still not believing. Tommie had said that out of all the human emotions, denial was the most predictable.

Panther gave me her charming smile. “I really liked you. You were different.”

And yet, my perplexity ascended. I repeated, “Different?”

“Not like the others.”

I looked directly at her, tried to understand. “The other women that you've . . .”

“That we've had.”

“We?”

“This isn't easy because . . . I'm developing . . . I have a profound attachment to you.”

My face was struggling with confusion and enlightenment.

She asked,
“Are you a woman betrayed?”

She had recited Carpe's Internet ad. That killed the last of my awkward smile.

Panther read my expression. Then she said, “Those were my words.”

“Your words?”

“I am a woman betrayed.”
That halted me. She was reciting my response to Carpe's Internet ad.
“I have been cheated on. I don't understand.”

I asked, “Who are you?”

“I can't fly.”
She went on, feeding me my words.
“I can't sit. I'm restless.”

I swallowed. Felt like I was in a twilight state, wide awake and dreaming all at once.

Her sweet smile turned into a soft laugh, a mask for her irritation.

Then, in a flash, I remembered all of us at Stroker's, when she was stripping, coming on to me, and talking to Carpe with so much ease. The way they were laughing and flirting, whispering back and forth. It was so easy for him to get her here, to bring her into our world. All of their interactions were so . . . smooth. As if they already knew each other.

I said, “His wife said he lied.”

“All men lie. Women lie. We all lie.”

“What are the lies, Panther?”

“You mean what is the truth.”

“Okay, what is the truth?”

“What he told you, his story was an amalgamation of things.”

“Amalgamation?”

“He mixed stories together. Yeah, I came out here pregnant, to be with him. I dropped out of Clark-Atlanta. Drove out here by myself. Found out he was married.”

I swallowed again. He hadn't enticed Panther into our world.

He had seduced me into theirs.

Still I couldn't fathom what was going on. I said, “He told me . . . He said that he was a man cheated on, but he was . . . was just cheating on his wife.”

She shrugged. “Just like you were cheating on your husband.”

“It's not the same.”

“All sins are equal, Bird.”

She was scorned by my rejection, annoyed by my strength, now trying to weaken me by talking to me like I was nothing. The warmth I had for her dissipated. Just like that I hated her.

This was what I saw in my mind: The first shoe would hit her in the middle of her beautiful face. I'd throw it hard and fast. Then she'd run, grab her forehead, curse and yell.

Then the second shoe would hit the bathroom door with the impact of a combat boot. She'd be in there, locking the door, stunned and bumbling around while I banged on the door, while I kicked on the door and called her every name I could think of, while I looked for a knife.

But that didn't happen. Not because I didn't want to beat her ass. Not because she intimidated me. You just don't throw Blahniks like you would a pair of shoes from Payless.

My fingers loosened and the coveted shoes slipped from my hand.

Panther stood firm, her breasts high, dark skin glistening, full lips parted.

I remembered what Tony had said about wanting to kill Miesha's mother. About how he said he wouldn't do anything that would make it impossible for us to be together again. I wanted to make what we had new again, make it as exciting as what Tommie had with Blue.

She was Panther. A goddess scorned. Like a warrior, she stood her ground.

Women destroyed each other just as much as men destroyed women.

I'd like to believe that thought kept me from acting a fool. Or maybe I was just tired.

I stared at the closet filled with clothes, the boxes of new shoes.

Designer attire for a betrayed woman. A whore's wardrobe. That was all that was.

Panther had given me the most devastating, destructive, and unpredictable news she could. Shattered my illusion. That was
the kind of petty thing a woman did. The way I nodded my head, the way I tisked told her what I was thinking.

I asked, “What's your real name?”

She smiled a one-sided smile. “Cynthia Smalls.”

I smiled a one-sided smile too. Now she was no longer a stranger.

I shook my head. “I won't be coming this way again.”

My pisstivity at myself had me heading out the door. Christmas air chilled my skin.

But I couldn't leave.

This wasn't over.

I startled her when I hurried back inside, my expression tight, mouth fixed for a verbal exchange, hands fixed for more than that. The way I pushed the door open, the way it banged the wall when I rushed back inside scared her to her feet. She jumped like she knew I was ready to take the shoes and leave her bruised body on the floor so Michael could find her ass.