Every Woman's Dream (23 page)

Chapter 37

Joan

“E
EEEEEEEEOWWW
!”
MY HUSBAND SQUEALED, LIKE A STUCK PIG, AS
he climaxed. He remained on top of me another ten seconds before he abruptly rolled off and back to his side of the bed, breathing through his mouth. “Was it good for you, baby?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“Uh-huh. You're still the best,” I lied. I reached for my see-through black negligee, which I had flung to the floor.

“Hey!” Reed stiffened. “Don't put that damn thing back on yet. I'm going to be up for seconds as soon as I recharge my, uh,
D
battery,” he added with a chuckle as he slapped his limp dick on the side of my thigh. That was the last thing I wanted to hear out of my husband's mouth. “I may need a drink first, though!”

I needed a drink myself to get through another round with him. I stood up and got into my gown, anyway. “You know how chilly it is in the kitchen this time of night. What do you want to drink?”

“Fix me a rum and Coke.” Reed gave me a hard look and shook his finger at me. “And, Joan, make sure you put it in a clean glass.”

As soon as I made it to the kitchen, I sat down hard at the kitchen table and moaned. Intimacy with my husband had become so boring and unfulfilling, his touch made my skin crawl.
Two
minutes after Reed squeezed my right tittie, blew his foul breath on my face, scrambled on top of me, and slid his limp penis between my thighs, he was climaxing all over the place.

Ten minutes later, when I returned to our bedroom with two large glasses of rum and Coke, he was snoring. “So much for a second round,” I said with a sigh and a silent “thank God.”

I went into the living room with the drinks, clicked on a lamp, and eased down on the couch. I sat for several minutes, thinking and drinking. After I had emptied both glasses, I glanced around the room, admiring the blue velvet couch and matching love seat I had purchased last month. Then I glanced at the wall clock above the love seat. Even though it was after midnight and I had a buzz, I reached for my cell phone on the coffee table and punched in Lola's number.

“I hope I didn't wake you,” I said when she answered on the fourth ring.

Lola and I had engaged in a lot of late-night telephone conversations lately. She didn't sound the least bit surprised or annoyed to hear my voice at such an ungodly hour. “I'm still awake. I was just lying here watching TV. What's up?”

“I . . . I just wanted to talk to somebody.”

“Well, somebody's listening.”

I heaved out a loud, sour breath before I spoke again. “Reed just gave me his midnight express special.”

“Huh?”

“The last time I rode on his train, it took three minutes. Tonight it took two.” Lola was the only person I'd share something so disgustingly pitiful and intimate with.

“Two minutes tonight? I guess that was an express. I rode on an express train once. His name was Earl.”

Lola's attempt at humor didn't amuse me. She laughed; I didn't.

“So, are you still going to meet your online friend later today?”

“I sure am. Especially after the ordeal Reed just put me through. Did you check out that site? Did you see my profile? Did you take a look at the dude's picture on his page?”

“Yes, I checked out the site. I couldn't believe your profile and that sexy picture you posted! Girl, I am scared of you! If I didn't know you, and I were a dude, I'd be checking you out too.”

This time I did laugh with Lola.

“And you're right. That guy you're going on your first date with is really handsome.”

The silence that followed Lola's statement was frightening.

“Lola, are you still with me?”

“Yeah, I'm still with you. I was just thinking about all the sex crimes we read about in the newspaper almost every day. Are you worried about that?”

“To me, a ‘sex crime' is not getting any. Let me tell you again. This site is for ‘discreet encounters,' which means straight-up sex.”

“But is it really safe? Do you believe it's just a networking site for horny, consenting adults and not a playground for sex offenders and other predators?”

I let out an impatient sigh and mumbled a few cusswords under my breath. “If I didn't think it was safe, I wouldn't be involved with it. Did you read the reviews?”

“I did. I couldn't believe how giddy some of those folks sounded.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It was funny to see Wall Street men, who had all probably attended Harvard or Yale, using words like ‘poontang' and ‘nookie' in their reviews. The women were just as bad. One female
lawyer
described a man's penis as a ‘tallywacker.' Now, how corny is that? I have never heard anybody use such hokey-sounding words,
period.
Not even those geezers we used to write to. Well, I have to admit, it sure sounds like the members of that club are having a ball.”

“Tell me about that too.” I chuckled.

“What if I wanted to join? What would I have to do, and how much does the membership cost?”

“The membership is free. I thought I told you that. This site, like a lot of other sites, makes its money from advertisers. All you have to do is create a profile and post a picture of yourself. You don't even have to use your real name or give out personal information, like your telephone number or address, on your introductory profile, which I'd advise you not to do, anyway. You only have to give that information to the site people so they can do the background check. Once you agree to a date with a man, then you tell him your real name and any other information you feel comfortable sharing.”

Lola was so quiet during the next few moments; I knew she had all kinds of outlandish thoughts swirling around in her head.

“I could use a fake name, give a fake address, and tell those site people all kinds of lies. How would they know? Background check or not, I could still be a maniac,” she said in a mocking tone of voice.

I was sorry now that I had shared my secret with her so soon. “Look, if you're not going to take this seriously, let's forget about it. And in the first place, what I'm into is probably out of your league. Maybe you're not the type of woman who should get involved in something this sophisticated. . . .”

“Why not? I'm just as attractive and ‘sophisticated' as you are, and I love sex as much as you do,” she complained—just like I knew she would.

“You're also a scared little chicken. You probably wouldn't make it through the first date without having a meltdown.” I didn't care how much Lola protested; I read her like a book, so I knew she'd eventually come around.

She proved me right when she replied in a tone of voice that had perked up within a matter of seconds. “You said that people always meet up in nice hotels, right? Not any of those off-the-freeway motels with a vibrating bed and a broken toilet? That was the kind of place the last man I dated took me to. If that wasn't bad enough, his credit card got declined, so I had to pay for the room!”

“Men with class and money don't go near places like that, and I can assure you that their credit cards don't get declined. I'm meeting Jeremy at the Hilton. I logged in again a couple of hours ago and saw I had more messages. A professional football player from Denver wants to get together with me in the Ritz-Carlton next week. I'll e-mail him back in a couple of days, so I won't look so anxious.” Joan practically squealed.

“You're not wasting any time, are you?”

“Nope. I want to get while the getting is still good. Life is too short.”

“You're just in your thirties, Joan. You've got plenty of time left.”

“Yeah, right. I could get run over by a bus tomorrow. The bottom line is, I'm not getting any younger. Twenty years from now, it'll be a lot harder for me to attract men like the ones I attract now.” I snorted. “Well, I'd better get some sleep. I'm going to need all of my strength for tomorrow.” I chuckled again.

Lola took her time responding, and when she did, she said something that shocked me. “Joan, get some for me.”

“Oh, I will do that and more. Since you are too scared to get some for yourself.”

“I'm not scared. I'm just cautious.”

I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing again. From the way the harshness had gradually eased out of Lola's voice in the last few seconds, I could tell she was getting weak. “Uh-huh. You're beginning to get weak, aren't you? Well, when you get weak enough, you'll change your tune. In the meantime, you can sit around and wait for one of your exes to give you a booty call. I don't mind having enough fun for both of us. I'm used to it.”

Chapter 38

Lola

I
WENT TO BED RIGHT AFTER
I
ENDED MY CONVERSATION WITH
J
OAN
, but I couldn't go to sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about everything we had discussed. For one thing, I
had
begun to weaken. Even with all of the negative media attention online dating had received in the last few years, now I was real curious about the new site Joan had discovered. I didn't want to find a husband online, the way Shirelle and Mariel had, but it was not something I wouldn't consider—
if
I ever decided to take the plunge and create a profile on a dating site.

Joan called me at work on my lunch hour the next day. She told me she had rented a car to drive the two and a half hours to San Francisco to meet her date. The minivan that Reed had purchased for her three years ago was being serviced, and he never let her or anybody else drive the second new Lexus he had purchased in four years.

Joan's instructions were that if Reed called me, I was to tell him that she and I had had lunch, and as a favor to me, she'd driven to San Mateo to pick up some beauty products for a mutual friend. The “mutual friend” was Liza Mae Ford, the same wheelchair-bound woman I had created to fool Bertha. We were getting a lot of mileage out of this fictitious woman. I still used her as a cover to dodge Bertha, who was impressed with me for being so devoted to Liza Mae. One night Bertha told me that I should let her know if I ever needed
her
to help out with the “poor little thing.”

Being devoted to other people was one thing I had gotten used to. I had had a lot of practice with Bertha, and Joan, too, for that matter. Because I was still trying to make up for scamming my elderly pen pals, I felt obligated to be nice to my elderly employers, Maisie and Samuel Cottright. I was determined not to ever let them down. But they were so good to me that I would have been just as devoted to them, anyway. Not only did they encourage me to take home complimentary bags of groceries almost every day, they told me regularly how much they depended on me. Their only son, Marvin, was in San Quentin doing life without parole for killing his ex-wife on the day she was to marry another man. Their grandson and nephews and nieces, who often took turns working one of the other cash registers, rarely showed up on time; and when they did, they spent most of their shift goofing off or hiding out in the storeroom to use their cell phones. Cynthia, their niece who had graduated with me, rang up customers' groceries and texted at the same time. After so many customers complained to the Cottrights about how she had overcharged them for something, or didn't give them the attention they expected because she was too busy texting, they suspended her for two weeks. I didn't care for Cynthia; she was as flaky as they came. But the rest of the Cottright family members were not much better. Whenever I was alone in the store with one of them, they took advantage of the situation excessively with extended lunches, personal telephone calls, and so on, since they all knew they could depend on me. Because I spent so much time manning the store by myself, a few customers thought I was the new owner.

I rarely complained to the Cottrights because I had a good thing going. I had a dream job that I could walk to and from and take off when I needed to (as long as I had somebody to cover for me). It didn't pay that much, but I was still making out like a bandit. In addition to the complimentary groceries, free lunches, and other perks, I had been voted employee of the month twice in the last six months and each time it had included a two-hundred-dollar bonus.

“I hope you don't let that job go to your head,” Bertha told me the last time I was employee of the month. “And don't let the Cottright family take advantage of you too often. You spend enough time and energy helping out that Liza Mae. And you have
other
obligations to attend to. . . .”

Bertha was probably never going to let me forget about my “obligation” to her. In a twisted way, I was glad Daddy was no longer around. Had he not died, he would have been the one under her thumb.

I still resented the fact that because of her, I had not seriously pursued another relationship with a man that might have led to marriage. After the mess with Maurice, I promised myself that when the next potential husband came along, nothing was going to stop me from accepting his proposal—if I felt he was the right one. I regretted the way I had given up so easily on him, until I heard that he had been dishonorably discharged from the service for using drugs. I'd also heard that he'd recently married a woman from the Silicon Valley, whom he controlled and beat. If that wasn't bad enough, he was also a serial cheater. According to the rumors, he had a mistress, who was pregnant with his baby! Ironically, Bertha's interference may have saved me from being in Maurice's wife's shoes.

 

Half an hour after my conversation with Joan at noon, Reed called me on my cell phone from his office. I happened to be in the employee restroom, sitting on the commode, but I answered his call right away.

“I thought you were having lunch with Joan,” he started, speaking in that annoying whiny voice I had come to hate. “She's not answering her cell phone.”

“We did have lunch, but she couldn't stay the whole hour,” I said evenly.

“So she should be on her way back home, huh?”

“That was her original plan. But one of our friends called while we were eating lunch. You remember Liza Mae Ford, don't you?”

“The woman who is confined to a wheelchair? Joan keeps putting off introducing her to me, when she knows I like to be familiar with all of her close friends.”

“Uh, well, yeah. Anyway, Liza Mae asked Joan to pick up some beauty products for her from this beauty consultant in San Mateo and bring them to her.”

Reed remained quiet for a few moments. “I'm surprised that a woman who can't even walk still cares about beauty products.”

“Well, this one does. Two months before that drunk driver hit her and paralyzed her for life, she won a beauty contest. She still likes to wear makeup and stuff. . . .”

“I see. Well, if you hear from Joan before I do, tell her to call me as soon as possible. I'd like to take her to dinner tonight. She's been kind of down in the dumps lately and I'd like to try and cheer her up.” Reed paused and I heard him suck in some air. “I'm sure she's told you, but things are really working out well for us. As a matter of fact, I'm planning to ask her over dinner tonight if she's ready to have another child. I wish we had started working on it years ago so they'd be closer to Junior's age. I want at least two more, and I'm going to make it clear to Joan that I want them to be only two or three years apart.”

I had to hold my breath to keep from gasping. “Hmmm. That's nice to hear, Reed. Joan always said she wanted at least two or three children.” I couldn't wait to talk to Joan again.

About three and a half hours after my conversation with Reed, I glanced at my watch. I had only a few minutes to go before I clocked out for the day.

“Lola, can you stay a little longer?” Mrs. Cottright asked with a pleading expression on her chipmunk-looking face as she finished ringing up a customer. She had been working the other cash register all day. “Tyrone just called and said he's stuck in traffic. I knew I was going to have a problem with that oafish grandson of mine getting here from Oakland on time every day.” I hated working on the days when twenty-year-old Tyrone was supposed to come in. He was almost always twenty to thirty minutes late.

From the sweat on Mrs. Cottright's face and the way her gnarled hands were shaking, I could see that she was pretty well-frazzled. I didn't want to add to her distress, so I answered eagerly and without hesitation. “Yes, ma'am. I'd be glad to stay.”

“God bless you, Lola,” she said. Her cloudy black eyes lit up and a crooked smile appeared on her thin lips. She patted the side of her frizzy gray wig and smiled even harder. “I told that man of mine that we can always count on you. Before you leave, grab a few packages of them smoked turkey necks to take home and tell Bertha I said ‘hello.'”

I didn't care how much longer I had to work on this particular day, I had no place to go except home, anyway. And I had something important on my mind: I was worried about Joan. She had promised to call me as soon as she ended her date, which should have been a couple of hours ago. She wasn't answering her cell phone or her home phone.

Tyrone finally showed up around six
P.M.
I gathered my purse and Windbreaker and ran over to the meat counter. I plucked out two packages of turkey necks, then scurried to the time card area and punched out.

 

As soon as I got outside and started walking toward home, I dialed Joan's home phone number from my cell phone again. I was surprised and happy when she picked up on the first ring.

“Where the hell have you been?” I hollered. “I was worried sick!”

“I was in heaven,” she cooed.

“This is not funny! What time did you leave that hotel?”

“Oh, I left when I said I would. We didn't even need the whole two hours.” She began to talk in a low, sultry voice that I only heard her use when she was flirting with a hot dude. “Jeremy was wonderful.”

“Forget about Jeremy. Have you talked to your husband? He called and I told him that story about you going to pick up some beauty products for Liza Mae.”

“Pffft! Don't worry about him. On my way home, I stopped off at his office. I waited until he finished performing a root canal on his last patient for the day. Then I lured him into the copy room, locked the door, leaned him up against the Xerox machine, and unzipped his pants. By the time I got through whipping some hot pussy on him, he was purring like a kitten.” Joan snickered. “Men are such fools when it comes to a piece of tail.” She snickered again. “I hate to rush, but I have to get ready for the dinner he's taking me to tonight. You remember that pasta place downtown with the hot Italian waiter named Carlo?”

I purposely ignored Joan's last question. The last thing I wanted to talk about was that “hot Italian waiter named Carlo.”

“Shut up and listen to me, with your slutty self. Reed told me he's ready to have another baby.”

She guffawed. “Humph! It won't be with me!”

“I know it's none of my business, and I know you're going to do whatever you want, but he sounds like he's really trying to make the marriage work. Do you really think this dating site is something you ought to be involved with right now?”

“I'm seeing Jeremy again when he comes back out here next year. And next week I have a date with that football player I told you about. Does that answer your question?”