The Eleventh Commandment (17 page)

T
risha closed her eyes against the reality of the moment. She had pushed all the strength she had into the chipper greeting that she'd meant for Cy's ears. It had become her practice, trying to sound upbeat when they talked, when in reality she was anything but. The truth of the matter was that her health wasn't getting better, but worse. The last round of treatments that her doctor had devised weren't working and short of the intense and debilitating rounds of chemo and radiation that he'd recommended, options that guaranteed her only a few more months at best, Trisha's end was rapidly approaching. She tried to keep these facts hidden from Cy because she didn't want to worry him and she wanted the time he'd agreed to spend with her to be filled with living life, not thoughts of death. Given her prognosis, his next few visits needed to happen sooner rather than later. She wanted to see him as soon as possible, in hopes of spending as much time with him as she could. That's why she'd called.

After she recovered from the spasm of pain in her abdomen, Trisha responded. “Hello, Hope.”

Hope's chuckle was hollow and insincere. “Not as enthusiastic to talk to me, I see. But then again, I can understand that. It's a bit awkward to speak to the wife of the man with whom you're flirting.”

“It was innocent, Hope, a pet name I used to call him. But you're right. It's inappropriate. I apologize.”

Well, damn.
Hearing the sincerity in her voice, mixed with something else, took some of the wind out of Hope's angry sails. “Why are you calling?”

Because time is running out.
“Because I wanted to find out when Cy might be visiting New York. I need to see him.” The pain in Trisha's heart brought on the pain in her stomach, a fact that was reflected in the breathiness of the last sentence.

One minute cooing and the next sounding ready to die? Is this woman faking? Are both me and Cy being played?
“Oh, so now we're trying to sound sick. Where's that sexy sounding voice you used just a minute ago?”

“A front,” Trisha managed as she endured another stab of pain. “I know what kind of man Cy is, Hope, and don't want him to worry. But woman to woman, and just between us, I don't think I'm going to last much longer. I've decided not to endure the pain of chemo and radiation. I know this is incredibly selfish of me, but this is why I wanted to spend time with Cy. If I weren't dying, it's a request I'd never consider. But I'm only asking for a couple days, or weeks, Hope. Then you guys will have each other for the rest of your lives.”

The honesty in her statement left Hope speechless, which is why she stood silent, clutching the phone, as a towel-clad Cy walked out of the bathroom, noted that Hope was on his phone. That was unusual; she didn't normally answer his cell. And then he remembered his earlier comment. “Is that Simeon?” he asked, as he crossed the room to where she stood.

“No,” Hope answered, handing him the phone. “It's Trisha.”

Cy locked eyes with Hope as she handed him the phone and started to walk away. He placed a hand on her arm, stopping her, and then put the call on speaker. “Hey, Tricky!”

“Hey, Cy.”

At the sound of her voice, Cy glanced at Hope. “How are you, Trisha?”

“Oh, as I was telling Hope, a little tired tonight. But what I didn't get to do is apologize to her for coming into your lives the way that I did. I knew you were married when I contacted you, Cy, and probably should have done this at the beginning, talked to her, made sure that she was okay with my talking to you. It was selfish of me and if I were in her shoes I'd be angry too. I'd like to tell her that I'm sorry.”

“You just did,” Cy replied. The look he gave Hope was hard to read. “You're on speaker.”

“I appreciate your saying that, Trisha, and while I've tried to put myself in your place, I'm glad that you realize how this is from my side. I'm sorry for what's happening to you. I know that being able to have closure at a time like this, to leave ... to not have regrets... is important. Cy is rightfully concerned about you, and wants to do whatever he can to make things better right now. I believe that that's the right thing to do.”

This time when Hope looked at Cy there was no mistaking the look in his eyes—adoration . . . and love.

“So, Trisha, you're doing okay?” Cy nodded as Hope gestured toward the door, then watched as she left the room. He walked to the suite's sitting area, but paced instead of sitting down. “I can hear the tiredness in your voice.”

“Yes, Cy, I'm very tired. And I received some news today that wasn't the best.” Trisha relayed what she'd told Hope about the chemo. “I was hoping that work would be bringing you here soon,” she finished. “And that perhaps you could spend some time with me?”

“I'll make it happen,” Cy said without hesitation. “In fact, there's somebody else who'd love to see you.”

“Hope. Of course you'd bring her. I guess it would be too much to ask to spend that time with you alone.”

“I wasn't talking about my wife. I was talking about my cousin.”

“Simeon?!”

Cy laughed. “The one and only.”

From the moment they'd met, Simeon and Trisha had formed a mutual admiration society. More than once she'd threatened to hook up with Simeon if she ever broke up with Cy. When the breakup happened, however, Trisha had disappeared from Simeon's life as completely as she had from Cy's, and like Cy until recently, Simeon hadn't seen Trisha in a very long time.

“Have you told him about . . . my illness?”

“I did.”

“Wow, Simeon. Just saying his name brings back so many wonderful memories. I'd love to see him again.” There was silence, as both Cy and Trisha thought of the time surrounding those memories and, given Cy's marital status, some thoughts were more appropriate than others. Trisha's interruption of these thoughts was well timed. “Where is he living now? Wait, don't tell me he's married with children.”

“If I did, it would be a lie. Up until a month ago, he was living in Alaska.”

“Stop it! You've got to be kidding.”

“No.” Cy told Trisha about Simeon's job. “But as we speak, he's in New York.”

“Living here?”

“He will be in about six weeks. I had an emergency happen with a project in South Africa, so an associate has been working on the businesses in New York. Things are crazy right now, but I'll definitely be there when he gets moved in.”

“I wish you could come sooner.” Trisha's voice was soft, plaintive.

“Why?”

“Um . . . not feeling well.”

Cy's heartbeat increased. “When would you like me to try and come up?”

“As soon as possible, Cy,” was Trisha's immediate response. “I need to see you, to spend time with you as soon as you can.”

B
o and Darius had just enjoyed a simple yet delicious dinner of salad, baked potatoes, ears of corn, and perfectly done steaks straight off the grill. It was a rare week when Darius's schedule was light, void of rehearsals, meetings, or travel, and he and Bo had been taking full advantage. Last night they'd enjoyed front-row seats at a Jay-Z and Beyoncé concert and two days before that they'd treated themselves to twenty-four hours at Canyon Ranch, a luxury spa just two hours from Phoenix where they enjoyed mud baths, steam baths, and couple massages in a gay-friendly atmosphere. The food had been stellar and while they'd passed on the hiking trails, Bo had admired Darius's taut backside when the physically fit producer/musician/singer/R & B star scaled the climbing wall. They'd laughed and loved and watched shooting stars while floating in a natural pool. Darius remembered all of the reasons why Bo was the love of his life and Bo almost forgot the reason Darius was being so attentive.

Unfortunately, the ringing phone on the granite-countered bar separating the kitchen and the living/dining space was a constant reminder. The fool who fancied himself madly in love with Darius had been calling all day.

Darius, who was helping Bo put away the food, walked over to the phone, checked the caller ID, then casually strolled back over to the dishwasher.

“You might as well answer it,” Bo said, after noting how Darius tried to keep his nonchalant expression. Emphasis on
tried
. “You know you want to.”

“How do you figure? I told you at the beginning of the week. This is our time. Business can wait.”

“Oh, you're still trying to sell me that fairy tale that Paz's calls to you are all about that movie project? Do you have some ocean-front property in Nogales that you want to sell me too?” The words were harsh, softened only by the kiss Bo placed near Darius's neck as he pinched his butt.

“Ha, ha. If you ever decide to get out of management you might check into becoming a comedian.”

“No, thank you. One of us on stage is enough in this family.” Bo placed the remaining salad into the refrigerator and reached for the sliced strawberries marinating in a sugary juice. “You want dessert now?”

Darius slowly turned around, his brown eyes twinkling as he licked his lips. “I'm sure you did your Aunt Gladean proud, baby, so I'd love some of that strawberry shortcake you made from scratch.” He walked over to Bo, and gave his face an affectionate caress. “I'd love it even more in the bedroom. And don't forget the whipped cream.”

Bo preened like a peacock in full heat. “You're such a bad boy. It's why I love you.”

“I think I'm going to take a quick shower. See you in a few?”

“You got it, lover.”

In the master suite, just inside the bathroom, Darius talked on the home's cordless phone. “I told you, P. I've been spending time with Bo. Quality time, with no distractions.” A pause while he obviously listened to what Paz had to say. “That's just it. I didn't talk to anybody! We went to a day spa; I didn't even have my telephone.”

Bo rounded the corner to the bedroom, immediately aware that instead of water running it was Darius's voice that he heard.

“It's not something I take lightly, believe me. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind.”

And then something else, said very lowly, at almost a whisper. Bo would have done a cat burglar proud, so quiet was he as he placed the sweet-laden tray on the cedar bench at the foot of the bed before tiptoeing over to the wall that separated him from his betrayer. His movements were especially noteworthy, considering they happened with his heart on the floor.

Darius's voice took on a pleading quality. “Don't do that. Listen to me, baby. I didn't take what happened lightly. Please believe that. This isn't easy. You knew from the start that I was married.” Bo's heartbeat escalated to . . . oh . . . about fifteen-hundred beats per minute, way beyond what should have caused a heart attack. All of the doubts and fears that had gathered in the past couple months returned full force, accompanied by pain. A picture of their spontaneous Canadian wedding flashed before him as he continued to listen, those magical nights when they relished the feel of freshly fallen snow, exchanged uniquely designed wedding rings, drank pricey champagne before a crackling fire, and made love in every room of the luxuriously appointed suite.
This muthafucka told me he was taking a shower. Didn't know that meant showering Mr. Holly-weird with bullshit.
In his mind Bo was strong and secure, using his ready sarcasm to mask the emotional shifting happening as a result of his worst fears being verbally confirmed. But in reality, Bo felt as though he'd been punched in the gut by Mike Tyson, Evander Holyfield, and an in-his-prime Muhammad Ali . . . all at once.

Suddenly, Darius felt uneasy. “Look,” he whispered, “I've got to go.”

Silence as Bo imagined Paz pleading for Darius to ... what?
Meet him somewhere? Leave the marriage? And just what had happened that Darius did not take lightly?
Bo didn't know, but he planned to find out. In the seconds it took for Darius to end the call, Bo's hurt had turned to anger. He stood ramrod straight, arms crossed, face set in stone that rivaled the boys on Mount Rushmore.

“Look, I said I would, all right? Just stop calling me.” Darius ended the call and turned with a huff. “Oh, hey, baby.”

“Hey, baby, hell! I heard you, muthafucka!”

“It was nothing.”

“So why was nothing being discussed in the bathroom?” Bo's voice escalated along with his blood pressure. “All on the down low and shit!”

“This is why—because I knew you'd get upset!” Darius's volume increased as well.

Probably not the best move as evidenced by the split second it took Bo to get within microinches of his face. “Which do you think would make me more upset, Dee? You talking to that asshole or you doing it behind my back? You're fucking him!”

“I told you I'm not,” Darius retorted, figuring that technically this was true. He took a step back.

“You're lying!” Bo took a step forward.

“Bo, calm down!” Steps back.

“Calm down? You want me to calm down?” Steps forward. “I walk in here all ready to make love to my husband, only to find him on the phone with his lover? And I'm supposed to calm the hell down? Or beat you the hell up? Which one sounds more appropriate right about now?”

The clenched fists at Bo's side signaled that he was more inclined to do the latter.

Darius's back was against the wall, in more ways than one. He took a deep breath, silently cursing himself for giving in to his desire to hear Paz's voice. “Baby, can we just talk about this?”

After a tension-filled moment, Bo stepped back and again crossed his arms over a slightly heaving chest. “Okay, talk. I'm listening.”

“I needed to talk to him about the project.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, it's not.”

“Paz is acting in the movie; you're writing the score. What does one have to do with the other?”

Darius walked over to the toilet, put down the lid and sat down. “You're not going to like it.”

“Just tell me!”

“We're collaborating.” He forced himself to meet Bo's incredulous gaze. “It was an executive decision. I guess Paz gave them a CD of his work; some poems he'd written and set to music. They like his voice.” He shrugged. “Thought it would be good PR for us to work on the title track for the sound track.”

Bo stormed out of the bathroom.

“Bo, wait!” Darius followed him into the bedroom. “Bo, please . . .” He reached out to grab Bo's arm.

“Don't touch me!” His look was one of pure disdain. “There's no telling where your hands have been.”

“C'mon, Bo . . . it's not even like that. I was going to tell you.”

“When? When the song came on the damn radio?”

Darius laughed. Bo scowled. Darius raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I'm sorry.” He sat on the bed. “Will you sit down? Please.” Instead of sitting on the bed next to Darius, Bo perched on the bench at the end of it. He sat sideways, not looking at Darius but straight ahead, placing Darius in his peripheral vision. “I'll admit that I flirt around with Paz.” Bo snorted. “I probably shouldn't do it. Guess you could say I'm a bit starstruck.” Silence. “You don't have anything to worry about, Bo.”

“But I do worry.” Bo's voice was soft, tenuous. “People are always throwing themselves at you. Men, women, hell, even the neighbor's dog has fallen in love.” He looked at Darius now, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “This is the first time that you've flirted back.”

“Oh, baby.” Darius moved to the end of the bed and wrapped his arms around Bo. This time there was no resistance. “I love you.”

“Me too, Dee.” Sniff. “You're my world.”

“And you're mine.” They sat silently a moment, Bo feeling Darius's breath on the side of his face, Darius feeling Bo's heartbeat return to normal. “Our fifth anniversary is coming up.”

“I know.”

“Might be nice to spend it in Canada.”

Bo smiled. “At the Fairmont Le Manoir Richelieu?”

“That's one of my favorite places.”

“Why?”

Darius kissed Bo's temple. “You know why.”

Darius kissed Bo again, moving from his temple to his cheek and when he'd coaxed Bo into facing him, his mouth. Soon clothes were removed and strawberries and cream were spread on the places that Bo had envisioned. The lovemaking was awesome, as always. Darius was extra-attentive and in a rare move was on the receiving end of love's penetration. They went to sleep wrapped in each other's arms. And as they did so, Bo's last thought was on making sure that he was always wrapped in Darius's arms . . . where he belonged.