45
From One Lover To Another
K
iki removed her arms from around Rafael’s neck and sat up. “Hello, Princess.”
“Hello.” Princess’s words were for Kiki, but her eyes were on Rafael. “I know you’re angry with me, Rafael. But we need to talk.”
“Conversation between me and you—really? Let me get this straight. You leave me hanging on the courthouse steps,” he began, using his fingers to count off the indictments. “Leave town with your ex not long after that, marry his ass before the icing can melt on our wedding cake, have me find out about it from a tabloid at a newsstand . . . and now you stand there with an attitude demanding we talk.” Rafael straightened in the seat while keeping Kiki close by his side. “I have nothing to say to you, Princess. And I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
Princess didn’t know why she felt like crying. All of what Rafael said was true.
So why am I feeling betrayed?
Kiki’s hand on Rafael’s thigh was her answer. “Looks like you delivered more than a poem in Kansas City,” she said, more sarcastically than she intended.
“Not until you left,” Kiki calmly replied. “This wasn’t planned, Princess. It—”
“Hasn’t a damn thing to do with you,” Rafael interrupted. “Whatever goes on in my life is my business,
Mrs
. Petersen,” he spat. “So if you have any sense left in that fucked-up head of yours, you’ll get the hell out now. Before I get really angry.”
Princess left, more like ran out of the room and away from the madness she’d just helped create.
What the hell is wrong with me?
If there was anybody who had a right to be angry it was Rafael, and if there was anybody who had absolutely no right to ask him any questions about anything . . . it was her.
And what’s with these jealous feelings?
Princess couldn’t even begin to process what that was about. She was married to her soul mate, her first love, and the man of her dreams. What did she care that Rafael was with Kiki? Good question. Because she did care and she shouldn’t, and couldn’t. She was married to Kelvin. Rafael was right. That was fucked up.
If she’d followed her first instinct she wouldn’t even have seen Rafael, wouldn’t have found out that he was seeing Kiki, wouldn’t be thinking about the protective stance he took with Kiki, holding her close and defending her against Princess, wouldn’t be remembering what an outstanding man he was.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Princess walked through the mansion with the sole intent of finding Kelvin and doing what she should have done fifteen minutes ago. She found him out by the swimming pool, and the tableau surrounding him stopped her in her tracks. Suddenly, she was eighteen again—the recently deflowered virgin with her nose wide open, and he was the hot jock on campus. Surrounding him were his adoring fans as he held court with the ease and finesse of a man well used to the royal throne. The fact that Fawn was nowhere to be seen was Princess’s somber reminder that aside from her nemesis there was still a throng of women who’d always be vying for her man, throwing their pussies at his dick and their lies in his face. She took a step forward and at the same moment, a gorgeous brunette appeared at Kelvin’s side. He turned to her in acknowledgment and when she opened her arms as invitation for a hug . . . he obliged. She whispered something in his ear. He laughed.
Oh. My. God.
Princess was frozen in place, thoughts spinning around her head like a Tilt-A-Whirl.
What in the hell was I thinking? How could I ever have given up a man like Rafael for one like Kelvin? How could I have given up the steady and predictable for the wild and spontaneous? How could I ever have thought that this could be my life?
The woman leaned in for a kiss and Princess saw red. She pushed aside the waiter who’d come up with a tray of drinks and stormed toward Kelvin. And then, with his next action, she stopped yet again. The smile fled from his face as he gently yet firmly grabbed the woman’s arm and set her away from him. He lifted his left hand, pointed to his wedding ring, and delivered what looked like a short, stern message. Princess watched in awe as Kelvin nodded at the throng of ladies and began walking away. Obviously on a mission. Obviously looking for somebody . . . his wife.
“Kelvin!” So furiously was he walking that she had to hurry to catch up. “I’m right here.”
He reached for her hand. “We’re out of here.”
She’d felt exactly the same way! Princess’s heart soared. “I saw what happened.” Kelvin didn’t respond, simply walked them over to the valet, gave up his coupon, and stood with his arms crossed and a face that could have been made of stone. “Are you all right?”
“Not really,” he said.
Princess placed a hand on his arm. It was tight with muscle, sinew, and tension. “I saw what happened,” she repeated, her voice as soft as the thumb that stroked his forearm. “I saw that woman come on to you, and I saw you stand behind your ring . . . and your wedding vows. I’m so proud you, Kelvin. I love you.” She raised up on her tiptoes to kiss his still clenched cheek.
“I love you, too, baby.” He said it, but he was still distracted.
“I love you more,” she whispered, leaning over to kiss him again. “And when we get back to the room, I’m going to show you just how much more.”
His jaw unclenched, and a slight smile accompanied his glance in her direction.
And in this moment, all of Princess’s earlier questions were answered. Seeing Rafael’s unquestionable dedication to Kiki had made her question her decision, made her doubt Kelvin being capable of the same type of loyalty. And now, less than ten minutes later, she had her answer. There was a reason she’d followed her heart. And she was standing right next to it.
Later, after hours of both strenuous and languid lovemaking, Kelvin and Princess spooned against each other. Princess’s eyelids were heavy and after the workout she’d just had, compliments of her husband, she welcomed the sleep. Kelvin continued to run a strong, forefinger up her thigh, before caressing her hip and stomach. Periodically, he’d lean over and kiss her temple, or shoulder, or neck.
After kissing her shoulder yet again, Kelvin spoke. “I think we should do that show.”
“Hmm?”
“I think we should do that reality show that Lavon spoke about.”
“I don’t know, baby,” Princess murmured, nestling her head into a more comfortable position for the sleep that now felt only seconds away. “People will be all up in our business.”
“They’re already in it, baby. So why not take control of the reins and work this to our advantage? We’ve got to be a team, baby, present a united front. I’ve got bitches coming at me all day long. I’ma need you with me, for real.”
Princess turned to face Kelvin. “I don’t like that word being used to describe women.”
“It doesn’t describe all women,” Kelvin said, now sitting up against the backboard. “Just the ones coming at me even though they know I’m married. Why y’all do that?” he asked, looking down at Princess and twirling a piece of her hair in his fingers. “Why y’all make it so hard on a brother to stay faithful?”
“That’s not all women,” Princess said, using the words that he’d just spoken. She rolled to her side, repositioned the sheet and yawned as she added, “Just those itches with needs they’re trying to scratch.”
“Ha! So
bitches
is a bad word, but
itches
is allowed?”
“Of course. Bitches are curses, but itches are simply inconveniences.”
Kelvin scooted back down next to Princess. “Damn, my baby’s smart!”
“Whatever, Kelvin! I want to go to sleep!”
“Okay, baby.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “But are you with me?”
A sigh and then, “Yes, I’m with you.”
“We’ll do the show?”
Princess reached over and placed his arm around her waist. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”
46
Home Is Where The Heart Is
“Y
ou can’t keep doing this, Obadiah.” Mama Max shook her head as she placed a steaming hot plate of grits, fried eggs, link sausage, freshly baked biscuits, and homemade strawberry jam in front of her estranged-yet-not-so-estranged husband. “Coming here at all hours of the morning and night, expecting to eat meals like it’s your due.”
“I’m your husband,” Obadiah replied around a forkful of grits and eggs. “It is my due.”
“Negro? Is you crazy or is you just lost your mind? What you did a year ago cancels out anything I ever owed you and fifty years of putting up with your mess marks my balance paid in full. You made your choice when you left this here house to sleep with Dorothea. You can’t have your . . . biscuit . . . and eat it, too!”
For a few moments, Obadiah ate in silence. Then he leaned back, picked up his cup of coffee (doctored with the preferred half and half and brown sugar combo that Maxine had perfected over half a century ago), and took a thoughtful sip. Finally, staring over the rim of his cup at his wife, he offered, “How many times do you want me to say it, Maxine? I was wrong.”
“Hmph. Is that all you have to say? That you were wrong? Hell, anybody looking at the situation can see that you’re wrong. Blind Bartimaeus can see that you’re wrong. A dead man peering through empty sockets can see that you’re wrong. That don’t change nothing about what’s happened—that you left your wife for a whore, and your pulpit for pussy that’s past its prime.”
“Maxine . . . ”
“Tell the truth, shame the devil.”
Better past its prime than not present at all!
Wisely, Obadiah chose not to voice this thought. If he’d learned anything over the past several months it was that no amount of poontang could stack up to what the woman sitting across from him had added to his life. Pleasure pokes were a dime a dozen, but women like Maxine Fredonia Brook were like rare coins. Less than a month after leaving Mama Max for Dorothea, Obadiah was aware of the mistake he’d made. But his stubbornness mixed with the way Dorothea blew his pole convinced him that everything would get better with time. It hadn’t. It had gotten worse. Before coming back to Kansas City a week ago, Obadiah had spent a lot of time thinking about how he could rectify his life. And since the day after he’d arrived, when after being kicked out of his own house he’d set up residence at an extended stay hotel, he’d been devising the plan to get back into her good graces, into the Lord’s favor, and return to where he belonged.
“A man has needs, Maxine,” he said instead, placing the focus of the conversation on the matter that had aided in his leaving almost a year ago and that in one way or another had dominated their conversation for the past week. “We have’t shared the bedroom in ten, fifteen years. I tried to use . . . other means to answer nature’s call, but you had a problem with that way, too!”
“That plastic vagina? The full-sized, real-life blow-up doll?” Maxine was getting so worked up that she couldn’t sit still. She stood from the table, reached for her empty plate, and after placing it into the sink, began to fix herself a second cup of coffee. “You datgum right I had a problem with it, and any woman who wouldn’t have a problem with it needs to get smacked upside the head with that very doll!”
Had it been left up to Mama Max, that’s exactly what would have happened. A year ago, while Obadiah had been pastoring Gospel Truth Church in Palestine, Texas, and just before he left to be with Dorothea, Maxine had made what to her was a gruesome discovery: an amazingly authentic life-size sex doll in a private room off from Obadiah’s study. Also found in the room was a comfy chair, flat-screen TV, porno tapes, and bottles of Viagra. After calming from the shock, Mama Max had loaded “plastic pussy” into her car, planning to take “her” to the church and leaving Obadiah as exposed as the doll’s almost-real vagina. Had it not been for Nettie Thicke Johnson talking sense, restoring order, and convincing Mama Max to handle “PP” in private, Lord only knows what would have taken place.
“We been round and round with this here issue,” Obadiah said into the silence. “We can’t really talk about it . . . we’ve tried not talking about it . . . I’ve tried going without it.”
Mama Max snorted.
“I’ve tried,” Obadiah continued. “But it ain’t natural not to do what comes naturally. I know you don’t understand it, and you don’t agree, honey, but that’s the God’s truth right there. It ain’t natural!”
Mama Max returned to the table and took a seat. She looked beyond Obadiah, out into the living room—a cozy combination of earth-tone colors and blended styles of country, contemporary, and antique. Mama Max’s love was draped throughout the room: doilies, needlepoint, and a knitted throw that, even if it was summer and eighty degrees, adorned the couch year round. She didn’t see any of this though. She looked beyond the furniture and out the window, back through more than sixty years of history and one of the moments that changed her life.
“I told you that I didn’t like it when we were courtin’. . . . You just didn’t believe me.”
“But you’ve never told me why. I figured with your being so fire and brimstone religious and all that, you were just making sure I kept my boundaries, but that after we got married you’d . . . you know . . . loosen up.”
“Mama did teach that sex was a sin, and that the only reason a man did his business with you was to make babies. I believed that.”
Still do.
Obadiah took another sip of coffee, seeing past the septuagenarian who sat before him and into the eyes of the girl he’d fallen in love with and swore he’d marry when he was only sixteen. “It’s funny how in all of these years I never thought to ask you. But . . . did something happen, Maxine? Something else that makes you dislike being with a man?”
After a long moment, Maxine turned water-filled eyes on her husband and nodded. “I never told nobody. I only wanted to forget what I—”
“Mornin’, Maxie!”
Maxine hurried from the table, hollering as she went. “Mornin’, Henry. Come on in here and get some breakfast.”
“He’s going back to her. He’s going back to Maxine.” Dorothea paced the length of her one-bedroom apartment as she talked to her sister, still in her robe even though it was noon.
“Did he tell you that?” Dorothea’s sister, Katherine Noble, sat in her luxuriously appointed condominium in New Orleans, watching two birds flit between the branches just beyond her patio. She’d listened to her sister’s pain for the four-plus decades that Dorothea had pined after this married man, so even though she wasn’t in the mood for lamentations and would rather be shopping, she lent her support. “All you have is a note that says he’s going to Kansas City and doesn’t know when he’ll be back.”
“But why, Kat? Why would he just up and go to Kansas City without telling me? If there was something happening in his family, why wouldn’t he just tell me that? No, this is different,” Dorothea continued, her voice dripping with sadness. “I can feel it. I’m getting ready to lose my man . . . again.”