Sinful Too (31 page)

Visions of Dior on all fours, moaning passionately, danced in Richard’s head in the same manner as before, when she was sucking on chicken wings with Kevlin at Boscoe’s. The tension in his neck then was nothing compared to the stiffness he experienced now. His fists were balled tightly when the waiter slipped him a piece of paper with Dior’s name and the number 1828 jotted on it. “Thanks for looking that up,” said Richard, as he rewarded the man’s efforts with a ten-dollar tip.

“Hey, thanks a lot, Reverend.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Richard secured a toothpick from the reception area outside the restaurant. He held it between his index finger and thumb, waiting for the right time to use it. Three older sisters from his congregation sauntered into the hotel with bags of souvenirs. They complained about not getting any younger then called it a night. Richard made small talk with two deacons who were impatiently waiting on their wives to finish getting dressed for a night tour of the city’s oldest cemeteries. Richard teased the men about losing their better halves among the monumental gravestones New Orleans was known for. “Make sure they don’t accidentally get left behind when we push off tomorrow. You might have some explaining to do when you get home.” All of the men laughed as their female companions approached, eager to get started. “Good night,” Richard saluted calmly. He glanced at his watch. Twenty-nine minutes had passed by since Dior staggered off with her six-foot three-inch escort. Richard jumped on the same house phone Mahalia used earlier. He dialed the operator, asking for the room number he’d gotten from the waiter. Dior answered on the fourth ring. “Who was that man hanging on you!” he demanded to know. “Hello? Hello?” Richard grunted when he heard the dial tone buzzing in his ear. Dior had hung up the telephone. Phillip and Rose rambled by hand in hand as he redialed the operator. They stopped when he looked up. He placed the receiver down and stepped aside.

“Hey, Richard, where’s Nadeen?” Phillip asked him. Rose knew where Nadeen was and didn’t care if her husband did or not. “I thought y’all would be up and down Bourbon Street like everybody else.”

“We ate an early dinner here. If I can get her on the phone, we might join you later.” He took out the toothpick and began to fiddle around with it in his mouth. “I may as well go on up and floss while I wait on Nadeen.” Phillip shrugged, Rose sneered. They mumbled silently as they headed for the French Quarter on a sightseeing extravaganza.

Richard darted over to the elevators right away. He pressed every arrow pointing up that he could find.
Dior wasn’t going to play him any longer
, he decided.
Who did she think she was anyway?
Cavorting with other men on his dime was unacceptable. She was not going to give up the goods to some local hotel worker if Richard could help it. When the elevator door opened, he bolted inside. “Eighteen!” he said, mashing the button repeatedly. Watching the floor numbers on the digital readout was excruciating. “Get there already.” The elevator doors opened to let him off. Richard marched out with long steady strides, past his room and toward the adjacent corridor. “Eighteen twenty-four, twenty-six, twenty-eight,” he whispered, placing his ear to the door. There wasn’t a sound from the other side. Richard balled his fist again then banged on the door like a madman. “Open up! I know you’re in there!” He continued thumping on it harshly while shouting Dior’s name. Eventually she opened it. Richard rushed past her, saliva collecting in the corners of his mouth. “Where is he? I’m tossing his yellow butt out.”

“Where’s who?” Dior barked, keeping distance with a straight arm between them.

“Don’t think I’m a moron. Where’s that dude you had the drinks and laughs with?”

“Oh Armand, he’s gone. I didn’t want to know him like that. He was just a nice guy I met. You were tied up, I didn’t think I needed permission to hang out and I did not want to be stuck in my room the entire time, so I let him stop by the hotel for drinks.” Richard chewed on her explanation. It didn’t sit right with him. He zoomed into the bathroom, yanking back the shower curtain. He checked the closet and under the bed.

“What did you do with him?”

“I sent him home and why are you asking me that
with your wife on the next wing
?” Dior challenged. “You’re a trip and my head is throbbing. What’s in a kamikaze anyway?” Richard’s chest heaved in and out slower now. He glared at the black lacy underwear she had on.

“Who is that for?” he asked suspiciously.

“For you, Richard — who else would I be going through all of this for? Armand wanted to hook up but I told him no. After I got your funky message, I almost changed my mind but then I went on ahead and left you three of them, telling you to come and see about me.”

Richard was proud of her. She’d shunned another man to be with him. He leered smugly at Dior. “
Armand
wants some of this? I’ll bet he does.”

“You had me wondering if I came here for nothing. I’m tipsy, horny, and in need of attention. Oomph, I was about to get at it myself.” She cast a fleeting glance at the oils and battery-powered gadgets resting on the nightstand by the bed.

Richard lunged at Dior, kissing her furiously. She moaned hungrily while unbuttoning his shirt with ten busy fingers. “Hurr’ up, daddy. I got to have it. Ooh, I’m burning up.” Richard flung his clothes on the floor then climbed on top of Dior. Her legs flew open wildly. Richard wrestled off her panties. His fingers roamed into her as he unhooked her skimpy bra with the other hand. Dior taught him that maneuver the second time he came running back to her. “Ooh yeah, you remembered,” she cooed tenderly, reaching for a stack of condoms in the top drawer. Richard slapped her hand away then forced himself into her. She squealed loudly, clamping her heels around his waist. Dior threw her all into pleasing him. Ulterior motives added an extra incentive. Richard was grinding frantically with his eyes closed. Dior kept hers open so she could watch her plans unfold in the pale moonlight. The pastor was digging into her with reckless abandon, his back sweaty and bowed. Dior groaned heartily when she felt him swelling inside of her. “Come on and get it,” she exclaimed heatedly. “Ooh, get every last drop. It’s yours, daddy, all yours.”

Richard pounded mightily. “Yeah, it’s all mine. Don’t ever give this to anybody else. It’s mine, baby, all mine,” he ranted until his muscles seized. He grunted and gasped. “Ohhh my God, you’re so good to me.”

“Uh-huh, always will be too.” She wiped the sweat from his face with the bedsheet. “Go on and rest. You deserve it.”

Richard didn’t argue. He rolled off, basking in the mind-numbing climax that floored him. “Whew-wee, ain’t nothing supposed to feel that good,” he joked, drifting off to sleep.

Dior grinned satisfactorily as she propped two pillows behind her back. “Yes it is,” she said, thinking of the tools she used to nab him. She planted a kiss on his shoulder, grinned again, and then pointed the remote control at the television. Dior went to wake him when the late news station reaired his interview and the subsequent dousing he received but she thought better of it. The longer he stayed there, the harder it would be to explain his whereabouts to his wife when he did find his way to her room. Nothing happened strictly by chance if Dior had anything to say about it. She set out on a mission, set her traps, and set up Richard to make a mistake he couldn’t climb over. Even Nadeen had a breaking point, one of no return, she reasoned. With momentum on her side and the wind at her back, Dior figured Richard’s lengthy disappearance and wrinkled clothes just might be the feather tipping the scales in her favor.

The alarm clock read 1:05 a.m. when Richard raised his head to look at it. He peered around the room, a stranger to the surroundings. Then it occurred to him: He wasn’t in bed with his wife. “Ohhh, this is bad . . . very bad,” he yelped.

Dior rubbed her eyes, squinting at him and feigning innocence. “What is it?” she grumbled.

“It’s after one o’clock,” he answered, stepping on his shirt as he pulled his slacks up to zip them. “Where are my drawers? Never mind. I’ve got to go.” He dipped into the bathroom to splash water on his face. Dior sat up in the bed with a sheet draped over her breasts. She did her best to appear sympathetic.

“Is there something I can do to help, Richard?”

He tucked his shirttail inside his pants then opened the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Get up and put the dead bolt on.” He was afraid of Armand doubling back and getting some of what he was forced to leave behind.

Dior’s bright smile illuminated the room. She hopped up and placed a second lock on the door at Richard’s suggestion. In the bottom of the closet, she riffled through her luggage to find the double pack of Early Pregnancy Tests she remembered to bring from home. She hadn’t been positive of her ovulation schedule the first time she let Richard in without a condom, but Dior had this date circled on her calendar. Having her trip to New Orleans sponsored by him was icing on the cake. With so much riding on Richard’s inability to control himself in her presence, she would have gladly sprung for the ticket herself.

Richard slinked down the hall. There was no use in conjuring up a lie to dump on Nadeen. He’d really done it now. When he saw his bags sitting against the wall outside of his room, he stopped. Afraid to take another step, Richard sighed despondently. He was willing to beg and grovel on bended knee if it came to that. He rubbed at the corners of his eyes to remove any lingering evidence that he’d been asleep. Phillip was right; he should have prayed for God to lead him, then he should have followed.

Richard slid the plastic keycard into the slot to get in. A red light flashed. Richard looked up at the door number. He had the right one but Nadeen had the magnetic lock changed, rendering his key useless. “She actually went and put me out,” he said to himself. “Nadeen, don’t do this.” He knocked gingerly so as not to wake up the girls in the next room or other church members staying on their floor. Richard drew in a calculated breath when Nadeen answered the door. Her hair was wrapped in a silk scarf. Her eyes were nearly puffed shut from crying.

“I set your things out,” she said, void of all maliciousness. In the partially open doorway, she yawned casually. “Your key won’t work because you’re not welcome in my space anymore. I don’t trust you. I’ve tried to deal with it, work with it, and get over it. I can’t continue stacking your lies and trying to make something good come out of them. You need help, Richard. It’s obvious you don’t need me.”

“What does this mean? What am I supposed to do?”

“You should have been asking yourself that question every time you left my bed and raced off to hers. Before I forget, your cell phone is in the zipper pocket. Dior left three messages. I listened to all of them. Now I see why you can’t turn her down; she’s willing to do anything you want her to. Congratulations.”

“Nadeen, we’ve been together a long time. Baby, I know this doesn’t look right but I . . . I . . .”

“Please don’t tell me you can explain. If I pulled something like this, you’d try to kill me and you know it.”

Richard couldn’t argue with her. He would have violently assaulted everyone connected with Nadeen’s affair. “I don’t know what to say but . . . but . . . I . . .” he stammered, from his knees. “I’m sorry, Nadeen. Please believe me. I’m repentant. I’ll let her go.” She yawned again, staring directly through Richard and the seemingly rehearsed act to restore what he’d lost. Nadeen heard some of the doors on their floor open after Richard resorted to pleading. She slapped at his hands when he reached for the hem of her nightgown.

“I’m going back to bed. Get away from this door, Richard, and that’s the last time I’m saying it before calling security.”

Annoyed more than apologetic now, Richard hated Nadeen’s resolve to stay the course. “Wait a minute now. You’re carrying this way too far, Nadeen. I said I was sorry!”

“You certainly know what you’re talking about. You are sorry and by the way, Brotha Pastor, your shirt is inside out. Next time, get your little girlfriend to dress you better.” Nadeen slammed the door, shut Richard out of her room, and then flopped onto the bed. Mahalia came in to see about her.

“I’m sorry, Mama. Don’t cry anymore, you’ve still got us.” Roxanne stood at the foot of the bed, awaiting permission to come aboard.

“My girls,” Nadeen whispered, with them on either side of her. She pulled the covers up to her neck, held them tightly, and stared into the darkness.

Twenty-nine

Not Yet, I Don’t

T
he following morning Richard ate breakfast in his room, the same one Dior abandoned at her previous hotel. Since it was his money that paid for it, he couldn’t see letting it go to waste. Richard spent the remainder of the night wondering how he had allowed himself to be drawn in by Dior’s schemes and led astray by his own carnal desires. He didn’t want to be near her or anyone who might have known about what happened the night before. Being thrown out by his wife was the lowest point of his life. Richard kept hearing Nadeen’s words resonating in his ears. “You certainly know what you’re talking about. You are sorry,” she’d said sullenly. There was no fire behind it, no spiteful rage to speak of. The love of his life had given up on him. He couldn’t find it within his heart to blame her. If Richard could have taken back the past five weeks, he would have. Unfortunately, too many things had been said and done for that to be remotely possible. While checking out of his room, he realized that life didn’t accept the slightest regret. Life was all about making the best of a bad situation and moving forward.

Cartloads of luggage were being packed into bus storage compartments as the vehicles idled against the curb outside the Marriott. Richard paid the taxi driver then grabbed his bags from the backseat. With egg on his face and painstakingly unsure of exactly who knew about his having been ousted, he set his bags on the sidewalk and lamented.

After several minutes passed, a smattering of church members began to exit the hotel. Two women boarded the first bus. Both of them neglected to speak to him. Soon after, several of them avoided eye contact completely. Others nodded out of respect but it was clear that the rumor mill had opened early on the weekend and the faithful were taking sides. From the outset it appeared Richard was behind in the polls. Then a ray of sun shone on his face.