Sinful (26 page)

Chandelle finally spoke up when she saw Marvin blowing smoke from the top of his head. “Huh?”

Dr. Betty shooed her like a bothersome housefly. “Don't let up now, Chandelle,” she hissed. “Men like this one are all about themselves, let me tell you.” She hit her cancer stick again and began nervously tapping the toe of her shoe in midair. “Let them mistreat us and take us for granted; ohhhh-no, I ain't having it, girlfriend.”

“Us?” Chandelle asked frantically.

“Uh-huh!” Marvin shouted. “She said y'all.”

“I thought these sessions have been about me,” Chandelle whined.

“I, me, us, whatever,” Dr. Betty exhaled. “We women have to stick together.”

“That's a good idea,” Marvin barked, rising to his feet. “Chandelle, maybe you can deal with it, but I can't do this.” He stormed out of the building in an uproar.

Chandelle chased after him.

“Don't say I didn't call it, but it looks like homeboy is making another dash,” yelled Dr. Betty from the doorway of the house of horrors. “I told you he'd leave. They're all alike!”

“Marvin, don't you leave,” Chandelle fussed. “You said you'd get counseling and you've already given up. I know Dr. Betty is a little high strung and that cigarette routine is new to me, too, but don't run out. She's a professional with certificates and everything.”

Marvin climbed into his SUV and screamed,
“Huh?”
Chandelle stomped to the driver's side and banged on his window. “Get back!” he yelled. “I'm getting out of here!” Defiantly, Chandelle held on to the door handle. Marvin started the motor and gunned the gas pedal. “I'm counting to three, then I'm driving off. If you want your hand, you'll let go!” Chandelle released her grip while listening to Dr. Betty's
“All men are selfish cowards”
rant from the top of the driveway.

Marvin took off in one direction, unfamiliar with the neighborhood. Chandelle knew he'd have to come back the same way after realizing he was driving toward a dead end. He skidded to a blistering stop in the middle of a cul-de-sac.

Chandelle climbed behind the wheel of her car, ramming her key into the ignition. “You promised we were going to get some help with making up,” Chandelle cackled. “And I'm not about to go home wondering if I'll ever get you back on that ugly brown couch.” She parked her Volvo in the middle of the street, trying to block his escape.

He gunned the motor, his tires screeched against the cold concrete. The Four Runner burned rubber to get past Chandelle's blockade. She inched forward, leaving a few feet of road and the sidewalk. Marvin swung his steering wheel, faking to the right. He sped ahead hurriedly. When Chandelle didn't bite on his move, Marvin had nowhere to turn. He saw Chandelle throw her hands up to protect her face. The loud collision sounded significantly worse than it was. The SUV incurred barely a scratch, but Chandelle's bumper rocked noisily in the street. She climbed out to assess the damage. Marvin took one quick peek at her and laughed.

“That's what you get, road blocking me.”

“Think that's funny? You hit me. Look at my poor car. It's dead. You killed my car. I'm filing against you. I hope your new job offers overtime, because your premium is about to have a fit.” She marched back to her car, dug in her purse, and whipped out a cell phone. Marvin did likewise, calling the insurance company regarding a policy they were both still covered under.

Much to Chandelle's chagrin, Marvin reached an agent first. “Yes, this is Marvin Hutchins. Sure, I'll hold.” He continued laughing at the fender, which appeared to have been ripped off by a wild animal. “Who? Mrs. Hutchins. Yeah, I know. I'm looking at her right now,” Marvin clarified. “Nah, it's not a coincidence that she's calling at the same time to report another accident. She, we had the accident. What, no, I was driving and she was driving.” Chandelle was glad that it wasn't she who was having the toughest time getting them to understand he wasn't with his wife, but rather he had hit his wife. “You know what, I'll handle it myself,” he decided. “Forget it, man. I got it.” He hung up, annoyed by Chandelle's riotous giggles. “What's so funny?”

“Look up the hill,” she said, pointing at Dr. Betty's home office. The screwy marriage counselor was watching them from her window, puffing furiously on another cigarette.

Marvin sneered at the doctor, but she didn't budge from her vantage point. “You know Bitter Betty is crazier than a Bessie-bug, don't you?”

“I must be, too, for letting her jack up our reconciliation. Marvin, am I that bad a person that you'd try to run me over?”

“Nah, not hardly. I was trying to get back at you for all the things you must have told the doc about me. I wanted you shaken up as much as I was. I'm sorry to wreck your car.”

Chandelle batted her eyes at him, just this side of sensual. “How sorry?” she asked shamelessly.

Marvin opened his checkbook, wrote on it, and then handed her an amount that should have easily covered the damage.

Reading the numbered figures first, then matching them against the written amount, Chandelle grinned heartily. “Five thousand dollars, Marvin?” she said suspiciously. “Are you trying to get me on a bad check charge, or will this thing really clear your account?

“If that's not enough, hit me back and I'll handle up on the difference.” Marvin knew she was behind on her bills and having trouble with the mortgage. He also knew Chandelle wouldn't have admitted it to him after the way she claimed the house for herself after his release from jail.

“You got it like that?” she asked, fingering the piece of paper playfully.

“Yeah, somewhat like that.”

“Hmm, you've never been this sorry before.”

“Like you, I've been working at it some.”

K
im Hightower was sitting in Marvin's chair when he came in to work on the following day. He stopped midstride as she started smiling at him like she was about to burst. She leaned back in her tailored pantsuit like an alley cat taking a long stretch. Marvin stared longingly at her with a curious smirk. Sure, she was in great shape and easy on the eyes, but his gaze zoomed light-years past her outstanding attributes. “You're going to make me guess why I can't sit in my own chair?” he asked, avoiding her dangerous curves.

“Sorry, but this is no longer your chair or your desk. Little did I know that you've been beating some mighty tall bushes. I was kind of iffy about renting ad space on billboards, but it's gotten you more business than you can handle in your second month. That deal you made with the McClellans, buying her a new side-by-side refrigerator and him The Executive office cooler with a wood grain finish, in order for you to use photos of their home to seduce other Anglo upper-class buyers was a heady move as well.” Marvin hunched his shoulders, in a so-what manner that made Kim laugh. “You have no idea how good you are at this business, do you?”

“Obviously I'm not too good because I don't have a place to sit,” Marvin jested. “What's with the portfolio rundown? I hustle and eat what I kill. You taught me that.”

Kim stood up from the desk and placed her hands on her hips, as if she were a
Price Is Right
game-show model. “Oh, silly man,” she chided. “Some things cannot be taught; three of them are drive, determination, and good old-fashioned know-how. Marvin, you're a star. You've been nominated for Dallas Realtor of the Month by
D Magazine.
” Kim picked up a copy of the latest issue from the desk and handed it to him. “Pages thirty-seven and thirty-eight.”

Marvin sat his briefcase on the floor near his polished lace-up wing tips. “Let me see that. Page thirty-three, thirty-five. Here it is.” He was looking down at the picture he'd taken with the McClellans the day they held a housewarming party. His face was plastered all over the page, with a story detailing how he'd jumped through hoops to get the family to move back within the city limits. “Marvin Hutchins of Hightower Realty made it a point to satisfy both needs of the…Managing Editor Butch McClellan and wife Sandy…” he read aloud. Marvin followed the next two lines of the piece having a difficult time comprehending how it was possible. “The Managing Editor? That's like the man, right?”

“Yes, he is, although humble and very prudent with his money,” answered Kim.

“Yeah, that joker is cheap,” Marvin agreed. “And he drives a hard bargain. After I had The Executive delivered to his office, he tried to get me to throw in a Backyard Bar-B-Q Smoker. I had to draw the line somewhere.”

“And you've made one very important friend. His receptionist called about you last week, but you seemed distracted so I filled them in on how you didn't limit yourself to high-end clientele and how you have a knack for finding just what people needed.” He moved to sit in the chair that no longer belonged to him, parked behind a desk he was no longer allowed to use. Kim leaped in his path. “Uh-uh, follow me.”

Marvin held the magazine in one hand and his black briefcase in the other as associates observed without the slightest notion of what Kim was up to. She escorted him across the building to the other side, passing cubicles and work hutches along the way. He grew more excited with each step as they entered into uncharted territory. Marvin was entering the big money zone, where the big dogs ate, Kim had told him more than once. “There is your new home away from home,” she explained, gesturing at the office space two doors from hers. “Here are the keys. We can't have upscale people reading that article, then coming here to do business in a cubicle. Besides, you deserve it.”

“Four walls,” he muttered, poking his head in. “I get my own four walls? Kim, I…”

“Take it, shut up, and get back to making good things happen for a bunch of good people. I once considered taking out an ad in that magazine, but now, thanks to you, I don't have to. Doing good things for good people, Marvin, that's you,” she reiterated.

He poked his head inside of the nicely decorated room with leather chairs and real mahogany everything else. “This is very impressive,” he said, getting used to his new digs. He inched his way to the oversized desk. “Wait 'til Chandelle sees how I'm living in my home away from home. I mean, it is cool if she comes by, right?”

“Sure, Marvin, I should have known that's what had you so preoccupied lately.” Kim said gleefully. “I'm happy you're back together. Working things out is important, it builds character in a relationship.” Marvin's awkward grin implied that not all had been restored in paradise.

After he ran down the story about the unbelievable Dr. Bitter Betty, Kim had a similar reaction to his. “Whuut?” she exclaimed, laughing her head off. “You're not going back to that quack?”

“No, I can't do Dr. Strange Love again. I'll wait for Chandelle to find another marriage counselor who didn't graduate from Koo-Koo U.”

Kim was paged by the receptionist to take a phone call. As she poised to leave her new golden boy, a thought came to her and it was a doozy. “Marvin, maybe the next session would go a great deal better if
you
selected the shrink next time around. Stranger things have happened.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

 

Chandelle was so excited when she received Marvin's message. She smiled when they met at the counselor's office days later, on the second floor of a church building. “This is really something,” she said, as Marvin signed them in at the reception desk. “You did what most men wouldn't. I've got me an extraordinary man. I'm proud of you for looking this guy up and getting us in to see him. I hope he's a lot different from the last one.”

Marvin joined her on the cloth-covered sofa and grinned, thinking that he couldn't lose with a black male psychologist, Malcolm Quincy, pitching for him. “I love you, girl, and if being extraordinary is what it takes, I'm down for that. Give me a kiss.”

Chandelle leaned in and smacked him on the lips. “Yes, I've got a good feeling about this,” she restated. “I saw the sign outside, Church of Christ. I'm not trying to have nobody slapping oil on me and if this man starts speaking in tongues I'm liable to laugh right in his face.”

“Nah, I think that's another affiliation. I looked these people up on the Web. They call themselves a nondenominational Bible teaching church. I heard they don't allow mechanical music during worship, though.”

Chandelle cringed. “No jamming in the pulpit? I couldn't do it. I needs my music.”

“Just remember that we're here to see about us. I need you,” Marvin whispered, accompanied by another tender kiss.

Caught up in good vibrations, neither of them heard the second door open. “That's not something you see every day,” said a thin forty-something white man, with a long pony tail to make up for a receding hairline. “Generally, I send a referee out here to keep things civil before the session begins.”

Chandelle stood up and grabbed her purse. Marvin didn't move.
This white guy, wearing jeans and loafers, must have made a mistake
, he thought. “Uh, we were waiting to see Dr. Malcolm Quincy, a brotha,” Marvin said, slowly rising to his feet.

“Good, then you've come to the right place. I'm Dr. Quincy, a
brotha
in Christ. Are you both Christians?” Chandelle's face lit up as she replied that they were. All Marvin could do was nod his head in the affirmative. “Thank God, that'll make our time together more productive. Come on in and we'll get started.” Marvin dragged behind reluctantly, wanting to back out when he learned that the counselor was white.

“Chandelle, he probably don't even know a thing about black people,” he whispered.

“I don't care as long as he knows something about married people,” she argued. “Stop being silly. You picked him. Let's see what he's got to say.”

Marvin plopped down in a leather chair, the same shade as the maroon one in his new office. He scanned the walls for degrees and certifications. There was no arguing about his education, the doctor had more skins on the wall than he thought necessary. “How long have you been doing this, Doc? It is okay if I call you Doc, isn't it?”

“Sure, I'm easy,” Dr. Quincy answered, taking a seat behind his desk. “I have been working with couples for fifteen years and getting paid for the past seven.” He waited for Marvin to come up with another question to discredit him. Marvin glanced at Chandelle's twisted lips mouthing “behave yourself” so he closed his mouth completely. The counselor opened a file with Hutchins written on it, hummed as he looked over it, and frowned. “Hmmm,” he said, peering up at them from the paper on his desk. “Marvin, I listened to the automated questionnaire you answered over the phone and I must admit to being at a loss as to why you and Chandelle wanted to visit with me. You're a good-looking couple, you were smooching in the waiting room, and your body language indicates that you both really like each other.”

Marvin smiled, relaxing his guard. Chandelle yielded the floor to her husband. “It's a long story that occurred in a very short time,” Marvin answered. Again, Chandelle nodded her agreement.

The doctor clasped his hands beneath his chin. He sensed their unwillingness to break the ice so he did. “I have an idea. Let's begin at the beginning. Marvin, Chandelle, do you still love one another?”

Both of them blushed agreeably.

“With all of my heart,” Marvin admitted.

“Like nothing else,” answered Chandelle, her smile softening.

“Excellent, do you still want to be married to one another and be honest to me as well as to yourselves?”

Marvin cleared his throat. Chandelle reached for a box of tissues on the corner of the desk. “Doc, I don't want to imagine not being married to Chandelle. She's a good wife. We've just hit a rough spot.”

“Marvin's right, I am a good wife,” she seconded. “He's been a constant provider, financially and emotionally. I'm less of a woman without him. I'd like to keep him if I can.”

Dr. Quincy seemed even more puzzled. There was no bickering and backbiting between them. He pondered whether they were putting on so as not to appear strained. He'd seen couples flat out lie to him in order to keep their troubles hidden and spare the other's feelings; those were the ones at risk for going postal. “Marvin, this rough spot you spoke of, why don't you tell me about it, as much as you feel comfortable? Chandelle, I'll ask you for your input in a minute, if there is a difference of opinion. Now, I'll ask y'all to respect the person with the cube.” He handed Marvin a block of wood. “Let's work at sharing the cube and talking only while holding it.”

As Marvin explained how he'd begun working more and giving Chandelle less of the quality time she needed, he told his wife how buying the house she wanted made him feel. He forgave Chandelle for the false arrest and commended her on getting it kicked. Dr. Quincy listened attentively, jotting notes here and there. After he'd started talking, Marvin shared
his business
so openly that it amazed Chandelle. She blotted the rims of her eyes as Marvin apologized for contacting Kim when he was incarcerated. “Anger was behind it, he said, “and my pride pushed me some too.” He went on to bring up Chandelle's actions, but she reached her hand out for the cube, indicating that she wanted to speak for herself and publicly own up to her part in their moment of discontentment.

“I got my boss to go downtown with me,” Chandelle said, staring down at the cube sitting on her lap. “When I heard that Marvin had been bailed out by another woman, I flipped. It was bad enough that she was the realtor who found that new home for us, then my cousin Dior told me she'd seen them hugged up when Kim dropped him off. All I could think was that an affair had been going on under my nose. What else would motivate her to get Marvin out of jail? I believe him now that nothing went on between them, but I did some foolish things out of spite.” Chandelle recapped how she gave the furniture to the Salvation Army, caused Marvin to be terminated from a job he liked, and then after getting a call from Dior, showed up at the grocery store to show her tail. While getting Marvin's electricity turned off was on her and her alone, Dior seemed to have always been around when the fireworks started. Marvin held Chandelle by the arm to comfort her as she reeled off details of the Tony Jones incident. She was fighting back tears and running out of tissues, but neither stopped her from telling it like it was. Of course, Dior's name came up quite a few times during her last bit of testimony.

Once Chandelle finished, she handed the cube back to Marvin. He gawked at it just long enough to allow visions of Dior's naked body lying on his bed to pop into his mind; then he tossed the cube on Dr. Quincy's desk like a hot potato. “Oh, my bad,” he muttered as the block of wood skidded across to the doctor.

“It's quite all right, Marvin. It's my turn to talk anyway.” Quincy leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “I must applaud your honestly and the lengths to which you've gone to demonstrate the love you apparently share. However, there are two issues I'd like to work on starting next week. One is getting you to agree on a COC—Code Of Conduct—to follow when things get a bit heated and learning methods to resolve them without being destructive. As Marvin discovered, masking feelings usually lead to dangerous outcomes. Chandelle, hopefully you'll think back on the things you've done to Marvin and recognize that there are some anger management concerns to be dealt with.” Dr. Quincy pulled out two business cards while flipping through his calendar. “God runs a faith-based program and so do I. Bring your Bibles next week on the eighteenth, then follow up if necessary.”