Sinful (25 page)

“I take it you got my letter today,” Chandelle said, smelling the flowers he'd given her.

“It would seem so,” he answered. “I read it several times throughout the day. You were eloquent and inspiring. I've never known you to show that kind of vulnerability. A letter like that couldn't have been easy for you. Much props,” he commended her.

“Thank you for the roses. They're beautiful. As for the props, you can keep those because I'm not looking for an ‘atta girl.' I'm trying to get my man back,” Chandelle aptly informed him. “I've been busy remembering a love written like a love song. I remember when you treated me like a diamond and didn't want me to leave your sight. I remember when you belonged to me too. Marvin, I want to stop depending on memories. I want to get back what was once ours, and I've been praying you'd soon feel the same.”

Marvin's eyes scanned up and down Chandelle's legs, underneath her thin three-quarter-length jacket. He was awfully happy he caught her on one of Texas's unseasonably comfortable winter nights. “You look great by the way,” he said, as he offered to discuss their future over a nice dinner.

Chandelle thanked him, blushed over his compliment, and then eagerly accepted his offer, but only if he agreed to dine at Taco Bueno. Marvin laughed, and Chandelle thanked God that her husband was not only interested in talking things over, he was also willing to do it at the very fast food restaurant where their lives together began. Chandelle felt great about following the spirit, which God used to move her. It didn't hurt any that He'd brought Marvin back around in record time either. She held her breath while en route to dinner, contemplating whether he'd care enough to stay there considering he hadn't brought up Tony, yet.

D
inner on the patio went off without a hitch. Neither Chandelle nor Marvin brought up issues that kept them divided during the past ten weeks. There was talk about Grace's baby girl and how hard Chandelle has had to work in Grace's absence. Marvin joked about Dooney contracting bids to get a brass stripper's pole put in the center of his bedroom, against his realtor's better judgment, of course. When Marvin explained how it could decrease the property value, Dooney couldn't for the life of him figure out why every man wouldn't want a brass sexual aid erected in the place couples needed it most. Marvin gave up arguing with him after Dooney decided he'd simply rip out the pole and take it with him if he ever decided to sell, if the buyers couldn't see the benefit in having one for themselves. It wasn't until Marvin and Chandelle went for coffee that the conversation reverted back to them.

“You should have seen those cops' faces when Wallace tossed the book at them,” Marvin recalled. “I've never seen two grown men so afraid of their pasts catching up to them. Thank you for going to bat for me.”

Chandelle reached across the small café table to place her hand on his. “I was standing up for my man,” she replied with a subtle smile. “It was the least I could do after they practically put words in my mouth, then dragged you off like a runaway slave. I hope you didn't have to fight the men off you in lockup.” Chandelle's statement wasn't rhetorical. She had heard stories about men being gang-raped as a part of a jailhouse initiation.

Marvin chuckled, realizing what she was getting at. “Nah, it wasn't that kind of party,” he informed her. “Most of the guys in there weren't the types to get down like that. I can't say what they'll be like after serving their sentences, though. They say prison changes a man in more ways than one.”

“Yeah, like turning them into women,” Chandelle countered quickly. “Was that on your mind when you called Kim to raise your bail?”

Having had an abundance of time to think that question over since it occurred, Marvin shook his head. “Uh-uh, that was the furthest thing from my mind. I just didn't want to be there any longer than I had to. I was still hot at the way it played out at the apartment, angry with you, and mad at myself too.”

“How could you feel bad about those cops busting in and hauling you off after they twisted my words?”

Marvin squeezed Chandelle's hand tenderly before answering, knowing his answer served as the real source of their problems. “Look, I should have told you this beforehand and none of the crazy stuff that happened to us would have occurred.” He took a deep breath. “I was nervous about buying a home that we couldn't afford and just plain scared of losing it somehow and failing as a man. I mean my job is to provide and see to it that you had a roof over your head. You'd grown up in apartments your entire life. I knew how much having a house meant to you. I didn't want to risk dangling that in your face, and then let hard times steal it away from you.”

“I thought you knew,” Chandelle said quietly. “Sure I wanted a house, but anywhere you are Marvin, that's my home. They say home is where the heart is and I believe that. Being with you, even under a bridge, is better than having eight bedrooms and no man to share it with.”

“You'd take me over eight rooms?” Marvin asked jokingly.

“Well, maybe six,” she answered, behind a light chuckle. “I need you to understand something. I want us to be together, in love again. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Then why'd you throw out all of my furniture, get me fired, and have my lights turned off?”

“Because I wanted to hurt you,” she confessed, “but I was talking about that night you showed up and ran into Tony.” Chandelle's eyes fell toward the floor, knowing how that must have torn Marvin's heart out. “Dior got me sideways with Cristal, then she disappeared on me. Tony owned the restaurant, saw me in bad shape, and offered to get me home safe.” She said all of that without raising her eyes to note his reaction.

“Dior told me how it jumped off,” Marvin replied calmly, too calmly for Chandelle's taste.

“And you're okay with that?” she questioned, not certain she wanted to know the answer.

“Not even a little bit. I keep trying to process it, with me ringing your bell and another man opening the door with his shirt opened. I've had nothing but bad dreams about you being with him and different guys, all laughing at me. If the DA could prosecute me for what I've done in my dreams, whew, I'd be serving four consecutive life sentences.”

“Ooh, that's terrible,” Chandelle groaned. “I promise I didn't know he was in the house. I was throwing up,” she remembered, as the vision of them in the shower came to mind. She took a deep breath to compose herself so that Marvin wouldn't be the wiser to the parts she'd conveniently left out. “I heard the door, someone talking, and then there you were. For three days, every single time I closed my eyes, I saw that look on your face. I wish I could take it back. All of it.”

It was Marvin's turn to hide his eyes then. He'd seen visions as well, sordid ones with him and Dior, their legs tangled and bodies slapping against one another. Images of Chandelle appearing at the door in her camisole rated a distant second. “I'm almost scared to ask, but I've got to know before I can go any further with this, with us.” Marvin swallowed hard, resolved to end their relationship right then and there if Chandelle didn't come up with the right answer. However, if she opened her mouth and lied to his face, Marvin was willing to accept it. “Did you sleep with that man in my house?” he asked his wife in a slow, dry tone.

Chandelle's eyes floated up to rest on his. “I wish I could tell you the truth, but I honestly don't know.” She couldn't believe herself, how she'd allow anyone to get her jammed up unwittingly. “It probably sounds like a tricky way to weasel out of what I'm sure you think I did, but it's not, Marvin. I was sick, tired, and I just don't know what else,” Chandelle answered as best she could. “I've been by the restaurant to speak with Tony about it, but he had his security guards stop me on the sidewalk from getting in.”

Hairs on the back of Marvin's neck stood on end. “You've been trying to get in to see the ol' dude? Shaming me once wasn't enough?” he barked scornfully. “I've heard it all now.”

“No, you haven't, and that's why I'm laying it all out tonight,” Chandelle asserted. “I don't want to go forward with you thinking I've been unfaithful when I…”

“Watch what you say, Chandelle. Some things are near impossible to take back once they're out of the bag,” he warned. Marvin was beginning to feel disappointed about reconciling and initiating a meeting of the minds with his estranged spouse. He wanted to say how there was no reason under the sun to excuse cheating ways, but he couldn't. He wanted to say that Dior's mischief couldn't be held fully responsible for Chandelle putting someone else in her bed. There wasn't any sane justification whereby introducing alcohol to the equation would excuse a person's actions either. Marvin wanted to berate Chandelle for getting caught up, but he couldn't, because each of those played a role in him breaking the vows he'd also held so dear. Chandelle's indiscretion might have been hypothetical. Marvin's actually happened.

After what seemed like hours passed between them, Marvin noticed Chandelle was crying. Although she'd successfully muffled her voice, tears streaming down her cheeks were painfully visible. “I love you, Chandelle,” he said finally. “I couldn't help it if I tried. You're my woman and my wife. I still need both of y'all to make me whole.” He reached for his handkerchief, then remembered he'd given it to Dior. “Here, sweetheart, take this,” he said, handing her a napkin from the table setting. “I never meant to hurt you either.”

Marvin held Chandelle's hand as they sauntered to the parking lot. He placed a soft kiss on her lips, then pulled her close to him. “You were right. We do need someone who knows a lot more than we do about keeping our thing together.” Chandelle sniffled as she nodded, her head on his shoulder. “Why are you crying?” he asked, when it appeared they were headed in the right direction.

“Because I didn't think you wanted me anymore. It looked like you've gone on about your life, all the new success in spite of the trouble I've caused, and I guess I thought you were going to say that you'd found someone else.”

“I didn't have to be apart from you to know that was impossible,” he assured her. “Your words said it better than I could; the best part of
me
is
you.
”

 

The following day, Chandelle called to tell Marvin that she was going to her weekly session with her psychologist and how he could join her if he wanted. Marvin agreed that it sounded like a great idea, although he was apprehensive over giving someone else a peek into his rocky relationship. Throwing caution to the wind, he accepted.

The office of Betty Forrester, PhD, was situated in a house on the top of a steep hill. While it didn't appear that the one-level ranch-style home doubled as living quarters when he entered the light-colored brick building, Marvin felt like a stranger in someone's home nonetheless. The neat den served as a reception area. Just beyond the glass table with brochures on mental defects was a large room being utilized as an office. There was a small white sign hanging from the doorknob that read, SESSION IN PROGRESS. Since he was unaware of the protocol, he knocked.

The brown door opened from the inside. A thin-built white woman eased in front of him as if she were hiding someone on the other side. “Yes, may I help you?” she said, as if that was the furthest thing from her mind.

Marvin squinted at her, returning the same cold gaze she'd thrown at him. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm Marvin Hutchins. I was wondering if Chandelle was back here.” He noted the woman's dark-colored outfit clinging to her slight frame. Her pencil-thin nose tilted upward as she looked down it at him. She could have easily doubled as a school librarian in her spare time.

“Ahh, yes,” she said, glancing over her shoulder and behind the partially opened door. “Give us a moment, won't you?”

Not if I don't have to,
he thought, as she closed the door rather abruptly. Marvin paced in the foyer as the moment she alluded to slowly lapsed into five minutes. When she did return, her demeanor hadn't changed one iota. “Come in, Mr. Hutchins,” she offered begrudgingly. “Chandelle and I were going over some items from our last encounter.”

Yeah, encounters of the third kind,
he almost said aloud. “Thank you, ma'am,” he replied instead, and then followed her into that room off to the side like a lamb to the slaughter. He was given a swooping motion to take a seat on the doctor's brown leather sofa.
What's with this chick and brown?
he thought. Chandelle was positioned on one end of it with her head in her hands and a stack of wadded tissue mounting on the wooden table in front of her. “Hey, Chandelle, sorry I'm late,” he said, figuratively swatting at the tension in that room with a knife.

“Marvin,” Chandelle grunted coarsely.

He stared at her, wanting to know what he'd done to warrant such a frigid response.

“Mr. Hutchins, I'm Dr. Betty Forrester, you can call me Betty, Dr. Betty, or Dr. Forrester if you like, but please don't call me Doc. I've always found it tacky and unprofessional.”

What if I call you Doc-tor Seuss because this is about as crazy as the
Cat in the Hat? “I'm cool with Dr. Betty,” he replied cautiously.

“Good, then let's get started, shall we?” she suggested. Start doing what was Marvin's burning question. “I believe we all know why you're here. Now, Chandelle is a lovely woman, pleasant, polite, and traumatized. That brings us to you, Mr. Hutchins. Please enlighten us as to what has prevented you from giving her the respect and admiration she deserves?”

Marvin's mouth popped open. He peered down the row of leather at Chandelle, who refused to acknowledge him. “Huh?” he said, searching for something to say that wouldn't give her cause to summon the police.

“Huh?” Dr. Betty repeated arrogantly. “I have no problem believing that your Neanderthal-like response has contributed much in the way of Chandelle's instability. She has been here for several weeks, bawling her eyes out because you have allowed your lust for other women to run rampant over your beautiful wife's feelings.”

Marvin was floored by her accusations and Chandelle's opposition to speaking up for him. With his eyes open as wide as his mouth, he said the only thing that came to mind. “Huh?”

“See there, just what I suspected,” Dr. Betty huffed. She reached down inside her dress pocket and came out with a pack of cigarettes. “It's no wonder your wife finds it difficult to trust you beyond seeing you. It's men like you, Mr. Hutchins, who think they can simply run over women and come crawling back when they've sown their oats.”

“Crawling? Huh?” Marvin grunted in sheer disbelief.

“Huh? Oh no, that doesn't cut it nearly enough, Mr. Hutchins,” Dr. Betty huffed, this time along with a drag of nicotine. She blew a trail of smoke at Marvin, crossed her legs, and waggled her finger in his direction. “I'll tell you something else. If you were taking care of bid'niss at home instead of getting your groove on in the streets, Chandelle would be a much happier woman. Ever think of that? Trying a little tenderness?”