Always (26 page)

“So?” I asked. By this time he was meeting with the president several times a year for one reason or another, so why was he telling me this?

“Well, it's on the seventeenth. The seventeenth of
next
month.”

My heart sank because that was our anniversary and I could not leave town to be with him because of my own obligations. Up until this point, we had never spent an anniversary apart. Our bedroom, which I would not even allow
South Florida Homes
to photograph, had nothing but pictures of us together. There were, of course, our wedding pictures and a picture of us taken in Holland when Henry and several other congressmen were invited to a visit by the prime minister of the country. There was also one taken by Kadesha of Henry and me covered in feathers having a pillow fight. We had a lot of fun that night, but those moments came less and less often. As a couple we did not have many rituals, but we held true to one. On our anniversary we would take the phone off the hook and spend the entire day in our bedroom by ourselves with a bowl of fruit, Teddy's favorite snack food of granola, and a bottle of sparkling wine. That was as elaborate as it got and we loved it. We never allowed a television in the bedroom. For us that was a place for other kinds of entertainment, and we felt if a married couple needed a TV in there, then they had problems. Unfortunately, I would spend this anniversary alone here, on the couch, with only the television.

“Leslie? Are you there?”

“Huh? Yeah, I'm here.”

“I'm sorry, baby. You know if it was anything short of the president, I'd cancel, but I can't.”

“Teddy, I understand,” I replied, and I really did. But it did not make the pill any easier to swallow. “What time will you be home?”

“Well, I'm in the car with Penelope and Marcus now. Maybe around nine?”

“Kadesha is cooking veal tonight. She asked me to ask you what you would like for dinner tomorrow.”

“Ahh, that's the other reason I'm calling. I need to go on the road for a couple of weeks. A few congressmen would now like me to campaign for them. I hate to give you such short notice.”

“Teddy,” I said as the tears began to swell, “I understand. We gotta strike while the . . .” And then I could not finish the sentence. Normally I am not that emotional, but “the change” had changed me more then I was willing to admit.

About a half hour later, Teddy called again. I had just finished the movie and was looking over a list of campaign contributors we should add to this year's Christmas card list, which had grown to over ten thousand people, when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hon, I just have to ask you one question.”

“Hey, babe, I'm so glad it's you. Listen,” I said, laying down the list, shaking loose my hair, and removing my glasses. “I'm so sorry about the way I reacted earlier today. I don't know what came over me. I was watching that damn
Sleepless in
—”

“Honey, I hate to cut you off, but I'm still in the car and need to ask you another quick question.”

“Yes?”

“What's your favorite scent?”

Now, I'm thinking,
How sweet
. He's buying me some perfume before he leaves. Not romantic to ask me, but very sweet just the same. “I wear Moon Dust of Paris.”

“I know that, Les. I mean what's your favorite
scent
.”

“You mean . . . like smells? Like wild cherry or lemon or something?”

“Yeah. What's your favorite?”

“Well, ahh, I guess jasmine. Why?”

“Thanks. 'Bye,” he said, and hung up. Now, why did he want to know that? I guessed he was having my car detailed or something and wanted to tell the guy what to spray in it. And then the phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Sorry, I hung up before saying I love you.”

I smiled into the phone as the words sank in. “Thank you, baby. What I was going to say before is—”

“Nipples of Venus, right?”

“Nipples . . . of Venus? What are you talking about?”

“Your favorite candy. Nipples of Venus . . . right?”

“Uhh, yeah.” Although I thought I knew what he was up to, the way he was doing it had me perplexed.

“Okay, I love you. 'Bye.”

I stood there thinking how special he could be at times. About thirty minutes later Teddy called again and asked, “Boxers or briefs?”

I didn't even try to say more than, “Briefs, 'bye.”

I walked around our house like a hooker in a convent. I didn't know what to expect or how to dress, but I knew I should take a bath in his favorite scent, which was peach hyacinth. It always drove him wild.

As I was sitting in the tub, I tried to figure out why he was asking me questions I was sure he knew the answers to. If he wanted to give me one of those open-your-eyes dates, I didn't know how he could get into the house and set it up discreetly. But if that was his plan, once again, why call me? This was not making any sense, and I loved every minute of it.

As I dried off, I looked at my body in the mirror and was proud of what I saw. I run five to seven miles a day and I always eat very healthily. Initially it was for Henry the politician because I didn't want him to have some fat woman wobbling behind him. And then I did it for Teddy my husband because I didn't want all those young campaign aides and groupies to get his attention when he was on the road and I was down here in Miami. But now I do it for me. I do it because of the way it makes me feel, and I discovered the more I love myself, the more I love him and the more he seems to love me.

I hate to admit it, but after going through menopause, I was always horny as I don't know what. All he had to do was
act
like he was undressing and my nipples would start to itch they'd get so hard. I just could not get enough of the man. Older women had told me after the change, they didn't want anything to do with a man.
Please!
I wanted to say,
Send him over here
.

I went to my closet to find something to put on. I couldn't wear a negligee because this was his night and it might
interfere with what he had planned. I couldn't wear regular clothes like shorts and stuff because when it happened I wanted him to have quick and easy access. So I went to his drawer and got one of his thin red and purple fraternity T-shirts and put it on with nothing under it. Now I was ready for whatever the senator had in store.

As he walked into the foyer, I ran to meet him and kissed him passionately on the lips. He looked at me almost surprised. So this was how he wanted to play, huh? Okay, I was game. I noticed he was a little sweaty for some reason, which turned me on even more. “Sorry, hon. Just missed seeing you around,” I said as I took his briefcase. And then I looked for the bag with the stuff in it. He didn't have one. But then again, he's not that stupid. He probably put it in his briefcase, although it was feeling lighter than usual. But that still did not explain why he called and asked me those questions.
Forget about it
, I thought, as he headed for the bedroom after looking at the mail on the end table.

Umm, I got it
. He was trying to throw me off. He had already bought the stuff and left it in his closet, and he'll call me in a few minutes to come inside the room. He was so sweet. But after pulling off his shirt and slacks to take a quick shower, he put on everything I hated. Not a tank top, which I always liked seeing him wear, or the neat little Reebok shorts Shaq gave him, which I loved because whenever he would squat, his thing would wink out of the corner at me. No, he put on these holey sweatpants and this ratty Tyson vs. Spinks T-shirt. It has these big holes under the armpit, and he knows I hate it with a passion. He walked back into the living room wearing one black sock and one red, yellow, and green Kwanza sock and sandals, and asked, “How was the veal?”

How was the veal?
“I, umm, I don't know. I was waiting on you,” I said to him as he walked into the kitchen.
Okay, I got it. He just wants me to ask him
. But I don't want to go there.
Henry Davis, I know you pretty damn—

“Oh, hon? Thanks for answering those questions for me earlier,” he shouted from the kitchen above the sound of
cabinet and refrigerator doors opening and closing. “We were interviewing this hotshot pollster and he said that certain voters liked certain traits in candidates. So I asked him for polls he had done for other companies to test him, and in a poll of women from forty to seventy, you did pretty good. You had the correct answer for each one I asked him. Do we have any jelly?”

What the fuck? I was taking a damn survey for old ladies?
No, he was lying. I know this man. He was just trying to throw me off. “Well, that's nice, dear. Yes, we have jelly. It's in the fridge behind the milk . . . on the bottom shelf.”
What the hell he want jelly for?

“Thanks,” he yelled with a mouthful of food. “Do you want to eat in here or in the dining room?” he said, smacking like a kid.

“Ahh, wherever you like.”

“Let's eat in here. No need messing up the dining room for Kadesha tomorrow.”

Okay, Teddy, you doing a damn good job. Almost too damn good
, I thought, walking into the kitchen with a you-can't-fool-me expression.

As we ate, I watched him chew his food so fast I thought I would have to practice the Heimlich maneuver on him before the night was over. I swear, he was chewing like a camel on crack cocaine.

“Sorry I'm eating like this, boo. I flew right in from Dulles, had a three-hour layover in St. Louis, and all I've eaten today is a handful of stale peanuts. Have you ever wondered why they give you such a small bag of nuts anyway? What's the
deal
with that?”

Who the hell are you? Jerry Seinfeld? Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Henry
, I thought while continuing to smile.

Then he said, “Damn, I almost forgot,” and wiping his mouth with the end of his shirt, he walked into the living room.

You asshole, you better do something and do something fast
, I was thinking.

He came back with the briefcase. Ahh, the briefcase. I had
forgotten about the briefcase. The very
light
briefcase. He opened it and grabbed the phone.

“Hon, I hope you don't mind. I need to confirm the reservation for my flight tomorrow. I forgot to have the new secretary do it,” he said, looking at me.

As I held my steak knife, I realized how
easy
it would be to stab him there on the spot, right between his third and fourth rib. If I got lucky, I'd get a female like Judge Judy who would not have the heart to convict me after hearing all of the facts. I could just hear her saying, “He asked you what your favorite candy was, and your favorite scent, two weeks before your anniversary, and then he planned to leave town? Honey, you were provoked. He got what he deserved. Case dismissed!”

As Henry hung up the phone, he looked at me with veal crumbs sprinkled around his pie hole. “I love you, honey boo.”

Fuck you, Henry Davis!
“I love you too,” I replied with a smile.

Later that night I sat on the love seat in the den pretending to read as Henry watched the Florida Marlins game on television. At around ten-thirty I gave up. Sometimes my overactive imagination would get me in trouble, and this was one of those times. Teddy had given me over twenty years of romance, but he screwed up this time.
I know he still loves me
, I thought as I walked across the room and kissed him on the top of the head.

“Where you going?” he asked, grabbing my hand and looking over the glasses he only wore in the house. For some reason, we both looked down at my hand. It was my left hand and we both looked at my wedding ring.

“I'm getting sleepy,” I said, and broke the hold.
Please ask me not to go to bed because you have something special planned for me somewhere in this house
. But who was I kidding? I had been here all day. He didn't have anything in the house or his briefcase.

He said, “I'll be there in a minute as soon as the eighth inning is over.”

I smiled and gave him an I-know-we're-gonna-make-love look, and headed to our bedroom. As I turned on the bedroom light, I could no longer stay mad at him. I don't know why, but he was no longer getting to me. I sat in front of the mirror to roll my hair, then I looked at the reflection of our bed. The comforter was pulled back, and he had left rose petals on the black silk sheets. On the pillowcase was a lavender envelope that read, “open me.” Inside it was a poem.

This was the first time the man had ever written me a poem, and as I held it over my heart, I felt emotions brewing inside. I can honestly say if he had left me a strand of cultured pearls on my pillow, I would not have felt as special as I did at that moment.

Seductively I walked into the den and noticed the television was playing, but the only thing on the couch was the dent in the leather where he had been sitting. “Teddy?” I called. Then I saw another lavender envelope on the television and I knew it was
officially
on. I opened it and read:

This was getting good. The last time I remembered being this excited, I was twelve years old and running down the stairs at dawn on December 25. I headed for the fridge to find lavender envelope number three taped to the Smuckers jar.