Every Woman's Dream (14 page)

I took my time walking over to them. The “group hug” was about as fake and clumsy as it could be. The rest of Libby's body felt like it had turned to stone too.

After apologizing to me like he was the one who had attacked me, Jeffrey quickly ushered Libby out the front door. I was still in such a state of shock, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

I couldn't wait to talk to Joan.

Chapter 24

Joan

T
HE DAY WAS DREARY WHEN
I
GOT UP THAT
S
ATURDAY MORNING
. The rain was coming down hard; the wind was howling; the sky looked like a gray blanket. It was the kind of gloom that depressed and bored some people. It was July, when the sun was supposed to be out. The Fourth of July was coming up in a couple of days, but I was not really looking forward to it. Today I was more depressed and bored than ever before and it wasn't because of the weather. Reed was the source of my misery. I promised myself that I would live through the mess I'd gotten myself into, no matter what I had to do.

It was way too soon for me to be thinking about a divorce, but it was not too soon for me to be thinking about things I could do to spice up my life. Shopping and hanging out with Lola and a few other friends helped, but it was not enough. Being that I was a very sensuous woman (at least I thought I was), I was convinced that the only way I was going to remain sane was to have an affair. And as soon as I ran into the right man, I would. It seemed like almost everybody I knew was doing it. All three of my sisters and two of my brothers had cheated on their mates. So had Daddy. With all that in mind, I felt cheating was in my DNA. Having affairs was a family affair! I told myself that if I couldn't beat 'em, I'd join 'em. The difference between me and my family was, they had been caught and had suffered the consequences. Mama told me once that “anything done in the dark eventually comes to light.” Well, I was going to be the exception to that stupid rule.

I shopped most of the afternoon and returned home a few minutes before five
P.M.
Reed decided to spend most of Saturday slumped on the living room couch watching ballgames he had recorded—which was the reason I'd gone to the mall and stayed so long. My cell, which was in my purse, was ringing when I opened the door to let myself in, so I set my shopping bags down so I could answer it. Reed was sprawled on his back on the living-room couch, flipping the pages in one of the numerous medical magazines he subscribed to. “Junior,” who was now three months old, was snoozing on the opposite end of the couch.

“Hi, Lola.”

As soon as I mentioned her name, Reed closed his magazine and sat bolt upright and focused his attention on me. With his eyes wide and tufts of his hair on top of his head sticking up on both sides, he looked like an owl.

“Can you talk?” she asked in a tentative tone of voice.

“A . . . little,” I replied with hesitation. I was still standing near the door.

“So the good Dr. Riley is nearby, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, don't worry. I won't say anything he'll be able to use against you. I left you a voice mail a little while ago.”

“I was out shopping and had turned my phone off. I just got home, so I haven't had time to check my messages.”

At this point, Lola's voice got louder. “Girl, you are not going to believe what went on in this house today! When you respond, say something that'll get Reed out of the room. When I tell you what happened, you won't be able to talk with him close by because you might have to do some serious cussing.”

“Uh-huh. Um, I'm sorry I missed that Tupperware party you had last night. I forgot all about it. With all those hens you invited, tell me what each one bought and who they roasted this time,” I said.

Nothing bored my husband more than me on the telephone talking about things as mundane as hen parties. It was the fastest way I could think of that would make him leave the room. He didn't move fast enough for me this time. He didn't budge at all. Just as I opened my mouth to tell him to take the baby to his room, where he'd be more comfortable in his bassinet, Reed got up and left on his own, carrying Junior over his shoulder.

“He's gone,” I whispered into the telephone. “What happened?”

“I'm so fucking mad I'm about to bust wide open!” Lola shrieked.

I listened with my mouth hanging open as she told me about Libby's accusation and the violence that had transpired. I almost cheered when she told me that she had fought back. “It's about time you showed that fucking bitch your stuff. I wish you had broken a few of her goddamn bones!”

“I'm glad I didn't. She might be pregnant again and I punched her in the stomach,” Lola said with a groan.

“Oh, shit!”

“Don't worry, she's okay. I didn't hit her that hard.”

“Well, it sounds like you were just defending yourself.”

“Yeah, but when you hit a pregnant woman, the cops throw you in jail and ask questions later. Thank God we didn't get the cops involved, though.”

“Maybe you should have. You could have told your version of the events and had something on record.”

“Why would I want to do that? I don't want Bertha to know what happened, and I don't want to have to deal with the cops.”

“Libby could change her mind in a day or so and go to the cops, anyway.”

“That's a chance I have to take, I guess.”

“Suit yourself,” I snorted. “I can't for the life of me believe she actually thought you and Jeffrey were having an affair. And I can't believe you're still going to stay on in that house after what happened today!”

“I will stay for a little while longer, I guess. After all, like Libby and Marshall keep reminding me, I am living rent-free. If I can hang on for another couple of years, I'll have saved enough money to move out with.”

“And what will you do about Bertha? Put her in a nursing home?”

“That's not up to me. And she's not that old, so she's hardly ready for a nursing home.”

Lola vented for another ten minutes before we ended our conversation.

 

When I went into the kitchen, Reed was sitting at the table, slurping from a bottle of Coors Light. He had a look on his face that told me things were about to get ugly.

“What's the matter with you this time?” I asked as I stopped in front of the doorway and placed my hands on my hips. The foul mood I'd been in for several hours had intensified, so it would not take much for me to go off the deep end. If Reed was looking for a fight with somebody, he was looking at the right person. “I'm getting sick and tired of that suspicious look on your face. One of these days, I'm going to slap it off,” I threatened.

I couldn't believe how suspicious and paranoid he had become. And I had just about had it! Only a miracle could get me to spend the rest of my life with Reed! My marriage was already in the toilet, just waiting for me to flush it. The more I thought about my bleak situation, the more I realized I
had
to leave Reed.

“Joan, are you cheating on me?” he asked.

I was surprised that he didn't comment on the threat I'd just made. There were tears in his weary eyes. On top of all his numerous other flaws, the man was a damn crybaby. Seeing that he was about to shed some tears made me want to cry. The last thing I wanted to deal with was him boo-hooing in my presence.

Reed's question caught me completely by surprise. It was hard for me to keep a straight face. “What? You've got some nerve asking me that!”

“I'm not dumb, Joan. You're almost never home when I call during the day. And you've been spending a lot more time on the telephone lately. Who was that you were just talking to?”

“You know damn well I was on the telephone with Lola!”

“So you say! If you're fooling around, stop before it's too late!”

“Too late for what, Reed?”

“Too late for everything!”

“
What
makes you think I'm fooling around?”

“You!”

I was so mad . . . I was shaking. If I had been close enough to him, I would have slapped his face. Instead, I backed up a few steps so I wouldn't be tempted to shoot across the floor and pounce on him. “What have I done?”

“Joan, you slept with me the same night I met you. Who does that?” he asked, standing up, waving his arms.

I moved another step back, not because I was afraid of what he might do to me, but because of what I might do to him.
“You did!”

“I'm a man—”

“Don't you pull that double-standard bullshit on me, motherfucker!”

“Well, yeah, I had sex with you on the first night we met, but you didn't have to let me do it! If you were that easy with me, how easy are you with other men? I am not going to tolerate you sleeping around! I won't stand for it!”

“So I guess you want a divorce, huh?”

His eyes got big and his lips began to quiver. With a loud gasp, he sagged back into his seat. “Divorce? Oh, Lord! I will
never
give you a divorce!”

“Well, if you don't stop fucking with me, I will file for a divorce myself.”

Reed slammed his beer bottle down onto the table. Then he closed and rubbed his eyes; he shuddered so hard I thought he was having a spasm.

“Are you okay?” I asked, rushing over to him. I helped him up and led him to the living room, where he dropped down onto the couch like a rock.

“Joan, I love you and I can't live without you,” he declared, wheezing like a man twice his age.

I let out an exasperated breath and rolled my eyes. “I'll get you a stronger drink,” I said, already heading toward the liquor cabinet next to the huge stereo system across the room.

“Stop!” he hollered, holding up his hand. “I don't need another drink.”

“You look sick. I'll get you an aspirin then.”

“Honey, come sit next to me,” Reed rasped. I sighed impatiently, but I joined him on the couch, anyway, groaning under my breath. “Joan, I meant it. I can't live without you.”

I had never seen him, or any other grown man, look so distressed since Mama gouged out Daddy's eye. I listened to him sob for about a minute. I got sick of looking at his tears and the snot oozing out of his nose, so I jumped up and ran back to the kitchen to get some paper towels to dry him off.

He muttered some gibberish under his breath and we didn't resume our previous conversation. I stood in front of him as he mopped his face with the paper towels. Then he stretched out on the couch and began to stare up at the ceiling.

 

With a disgusted snort, I spun around and returned to the kitchen and dialed Lola's number.

“You think you've got problems,” I began in a low voice as soon as she answered.

“Joan, what's the matter?”

“Reed just told me that he can't live without me.”

“So? Love-struck men say stupid shit like that all the time. One time a dude told me that on our second date. He only stuck around for a month.”

“That was different. Reed and I are married and he just told me that he would never give me a divorce.”

“‘Divorce'? Are you guys having problems serious enough for ‘divorce' to come into the conversation?”

“I have a feeling that'll be our final destination.”

“I hope it doesn't come to that, Joan. You have so much going for you. I'd hate to see you throw it all away too soon and have to start all over again.”

“Lola, what's wrong with starting over again? People do it all the time.”

“Yeah, but you're different.”

“‘Different'? In what way?”

“For one thing, you're a free spirit. You were the boldest girl in our school. You did things I would never do and you never got caught.”

“Thanks, I guess. I don't think there's anything unique about the way I do things.”

“Yeah, but you do your things so well. You live your life the way you want to and I think that's only because you always make the best of a bad situation. I wish I could be more like you.”

I wondered what Lola would say if she knew I was planning to find a man to have an affair with. “Be careful what you wish for,” I warned.

Chapter 25

Lola

I
OFFERED TO MEET
J
OAN FOR COFFEE AT
W
OODY'S, A TRENDY CAFÉ
a few blocks from her condo, but she declined. She explained that Reed had accused her of seeing other men and that it was in her best interest to lay low for a few days.

“Reed can't be serious about you having an affair.” I laughed. The idea of Joan cheating on her husband was ridiculous. She was a “hot mama” with a huge appetite when it came to sex, but she had assured me that she'd taken her wedding vows very seriously.

“What's so funny?”

“
You
having an affair,” I said, laughing some more.

“You think that's so funny? I'll have you know, married people have affairs all the time. After that thing with your daddy and Shirelle, you should know that better than anybody.”

“Joan, you're right and I'm sorry. I know my mother never complained about Daddy moving his girlfriend into our house, but it had to be painful for her. There's nothing funny about cheating. But since it's you we're talking about, I don't know what to say.”

“You can say whatever you want to say. I'd rather you say it and not just think it. You and I have never bitten our tongues, so don't start now.”

“Okay. Would you cheat on Reed?” I held my breath as I awaited her response.

“Let's talk about this again at a later date,” she told me with a dry tone of voice. “I'm going to hang up and go fix myself a strong drink.” Joan sounded so tired and weak. If she hadn't ended the call when she did, I would have.

I missed not talking to Joan for the rest of the week. I had things on my mind that I wanted to discuss, and she was still the only friend I could confide in.

In the meantime, I had enough going on in my life to keep me occupied.

Since my altercation with Libby, she had not been back to the house when I was present. But according to the neighbors, she and Marshall often dropped by while I was at work.

Last Wednesday, as I was leaving for work a few minutes later than usual, I saw Marshall cruising toward Bertha's house in the brand-new Mercedes he had purchased a month ago. The man couldn't even pay his bills on time without his mother's help and here he was driving a
Mercedes
! Bertha must have known he was coming, because she had gotten up that morning before me.

A couple of days later as I walked toward home after work, I saw Libby prancing out the front door with Bertha close behind her. I stopped and ducked behind a bread truck parked in front of Husat's Bakery. I waited a few moments before I peeped around that truck. I shook my head and cussed under my breath when I saw Bertha and Libby hugging each other on the front porch steps. I didn't come from my hiding place until I saw Libby dash off the porch and get into her car.

I thought it was amusing that Libby and Marshall felt so intimidated by me that they'd go out of their way to avoid me. But then again, I wasn't sure if I intimidated them or if they just despised me that much.

 

Jeffrey had also stopped coming around when I was home and he no longer called to chat with me. I missed him, so about a month after my fight with Libby, I called him on his cell phone. I was surprised that he had not changed his number.

“Hello, Jeffrey. It's Lola,” I said when he answered.

“Hello there, Lola!” He sounded like he was glad to hear from me. “I've been meaning to call you, but . . .”

“But you don't want any more trouble with your wife. I understand. You were on my mind and I just wanted to hear your voice. I hope things are going well for you now.”

He let out a loud breath and responded in a very somber tone of voice. “Libby lost the baby a couple of days ago.”

“Oh! I'm sorry. I hope she's all right. Bertha didn't tell me!”

“She didn't even know Libby was pregnant again. We didn't want to tell too many people because she's . . . Well, she's had two previous miscarriages. Bertha didn't know about those either, nor did anyone else. We want at least two more children.” Jeffrey's voice cracked and he paused for a few seconds. He cleared his throat and continued, talking in a slow, controlled manner. “Libby wants a daughter so she can relive her childhood. She thinks a daughter would be an extension of herself.”

I held my breath because the thought of two versions of Libby sent a chill up my spine.

“I hope you'll keep what I just told you about the miscarriage to yourself.”

“I will. And I really am truly sorry about the miscarriage. I know I'm not one of Libby's favorite people, but I do wish her nothing but the best. I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

“Take care, Lola. Maybe when things cool off, I can take you out again.”

“Yeah . . . sure.”

 

Two more weeks went by and Libby and Jeffrey, as well as Marshall and his wife, still only came to the house during the day when they knew I'd be at work. I was surprised that it took Bertha so long to notice this new development.

“I wonder why the kids don't come by in the evening and on weekends the way they used to,” she said over breakfast one Sunday morning just before she left for church.

“I don't know,” I muttered.

“I guess they're so busy with their own lives, they have to come by when they can. Oh, by the way, that soldier boy you went out with a few times called last night while you were at the mall with Joan.”

I was surprised that Bertha was talking about Maurice Hamilton in such a pleasant tone of voice. During his first visit, she had casually told him that he had a “generous” nose, but he was “still cute.” Stunned, he had laughed and quickly changed the subject and she never mentioned his nose again.

Until now.

“Too bad such a cute young man has such a meatball nose,” she crowed.

“Yeah, but he's still cute,” I countered. “Thanks for letting me know he called. I . . . I r-really like h-him,” I stammered as my mind wandered back to the first time I'd encountered Maurice.

He was a sexy, twenty-year-old marine I had met a few weeks ago at a Dollar Tree store. In addition to his uniform, his tall, muscular body and his cute baby face had immediately caught my attention. I had been gathering a few miscellaneous household items when I bumped into him in the cleaning-products aisle. He looked so confused, holding three different brands of spot remover. I offered to help him decide which one to purchase. We clicked and exchanged phone numbers.

When he came to visit me two nights later, Bertha was her usual self. She promptly told him about some of her ailments and what a blessing it was to have a daughter like me to take care of her.

A few minutes after she had insulted his nose, she jokingly told Maurice that she and I were “joined at the hip,” something she eventually told almost every man who came to see me. He didn't respond directly to Bertha. Instead, he turned to me and said right in front of her, “Lola, I can live with that if you can. I'd still like to get to know you.” From the sour look on Bertha's face, it was obvious he had said something she didn't like.

“Your food is getting cold,” she now said, interrupting my thoughts. Maurice was so heavy on my mind . . . I had almost forgotten I was at the kitchen table.

“Huh? Oh, yes. I'll give him a call later on today,” I mumbled.

It had been quite a while since I'd been with a man that I liked as much as Maurice. I called him after I finished breakfast and I went out with him the following three nights in a row. He had only six more days left on his leave and I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him—without Bertha in the vicinity blowing her nose and saying one stupid thing after another.

“Lola, I know we haven't known each other that long, but I'd like to take our relationship to the next level,” Maurice told me as soon as we were alone on his next visit. I was glad Bertha had left the room a few minutes ago.

“What are you trying to tell me?” I asked, glancing toward the doorway. I was relieved when I heard the toilet flush. That meant she was still in the bathroom upstairs. It would take another couple of minutes for her to wash her hands, take her various pills, and make it back to the living room. I turned quickly back to Maurice, blinking at him as I anxiously awaited his response.

“I know we don't know one another that well, but I know you well enough. I've told my folks about you and they want to meet you before I leave.”

“Oh. I . . . uh, I'd like to meet them too,” I said with hesitation, hoping I wouldn't be stupid enough to make the same mistake Joan had made by marrying Reed too soon. If Maurice asked me to marry him, I planned to take the time to get to know him better. Besides that, I needed to ease him into the notion that Bertha might live with us.