My Husband's Girlfriend (12 page)

“Okay, I’ll do it. I want you, Neil. I want you.”

“I want you, too.”

“Do you?” she whispers.

Dani lifts her tank top, pulls it over her head, and arches her back till her bones pop. She’s braless. Her breasts are plump, perfect, ready.

“Suck my titties, okay, Neil? Please?”

She goes to lie on the floor, with her legs spread, shorts still on, hands resting next to her side, fingers thumping the carpet.

I join her, bending over her body and staring at her flat belly until she playfully pops me on the cheek. Wow! A
flat
belly.

“C’mon, Neil. What cha waiting on?”

“Who am I?” I ask.

“You’re a…fireman…and I’m totally on fire.”

I snatch one of her nipples in my mouth and suck its hardness. Like reaching inside a purse, I slide my fingers deep into her lavender-lace cheeky pants and massage the moistness between her legs, which is just how I like it.

“Mmmm, God, Neil…”

“You ready for the fireman to put out your fire?”

I move down and place my lips against her inner thighs, which have zero cellulite. Lightly kissing her flesh, I notice tears springing in my eyes. There’s just something about Dani…I tug off her shorts, enjoying how warm her legs feel. I press my lips against her panties, kissing her moistness while her cheeky pants are still on. She writhes and wiggles, makes a contented face, and groans.

“Neil, I–I heard you like to s–suck things.” She’s gasping. “That include me, too?”

I moan. Dani clutches my head tight between her hands. I nibble on her lavender lace some more and watch her legs shake. I slide off her cheeky pants and my tongue laps her like a deer drinking from a river, sucking, licking her, feeling her buck and squirm and moan underneath me. And for one hour straight I do Dani. I sloppily suck her breasts. I devour her toes, fingertips, and elbows. I suck on her inner thighs, ears, neck, and lips, smearing my entire face against her moist vagina and munching away until she comes, arching her back and crying out, “Ooooooh mmm, damn.”

When it’s all over, our bodies are slippery with sweat. And her beautiful curls look like she got caught in an unexpected rainstorm, her long strands of hair pressed flat on her head.

Dani makes me feel like a dehydrated man thirsty for water, not satisfied till I drink from her well. So what does it mean if I drink—but still feel thirsty?

12

Anya

It’s almost mid-December. Neil has fled the house for the weekend, em-
barking on his customary fishing trip where he treks down to Galveston with a few of his buddies. I have never wanted to accompany him—besides, he wouldn’t allow that, anyway. He says men need to get away and bond sometimes, and because he only does this twice a year, I have nothing to whine about. Besides, he says, it’s in our arrangement.

“Oh, yeah, right, the arrangement,” I said to him an hour ago. “Funny you mention that whenever it’s convenient and will benefit you, Neil.”

He chuckled in his cell phone.

“Sure, laugh at me now,” I told him. “You’re probably halfway there, so my little arguments aren’t gonna change a thing.”

“You said it, Anya. Anyway, take care. I’ll be back home Sunday night.”

It’s Friday afternoon. Miss Reesy has succumbed to the lure of sleep. She’s spread out on the floor of the den. I need to nudge her so her body won’t be too stiff when she wakes up. I hear no sounds in the house, not the splashing dishwasher, or the knocks and taps of the hot-water heater. Peace at home is incalculably divine, isn’t it? The quiet is rare and I need this time to think, ponder the future.

I place my rump in a rocking chair. But the phone rings before I can get good and settled.

Caller ID says
Unavailable.
So who is it this time? Pushy telemarketer who just got to work? Determined bill collector who pays his bills by harassing broke women?

“Hello,” I mumble.

“I, uh, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Huh?”

“It’s, uh, Dani. I didn’t want to call you but…”

“What’s the matter now?” She calls every few days wanting something, wanting nothing. I try to be patient but…

“Brax won’t stop crying,” she tells me. “His forehead feels hot. I’ve done everything—”

“You call a doctor?”

“No, no, I didn’t. The co-pay is sixty bucks.” She sucks in her breath. “And we just went to the doctor a week and a half ago. Turned out to be nothing major and I don’t have money to—”

“I thought you were earning money from your gift basket—”

“That doesn’t stop bills from piling up,” Dani says. “Look, Anya, please tell me something.” I hear Brax wailing in the background. I wonder why this girl doesn’t call her family, but then I remember she probably considers
us
her family. I stand up and begin pacing.

“Uh, tell you what,” I respond. “Bring him over here so I can figure out the problem. I can’t tell what’s wrong if I can’t see him. If it’s urgent, I can take him to the doctor.”

She whimpers and agrees. I want to spit. I want to scream. Even though I pat myself on the back for wanting to face the reality of this situation, at times the pressure closes in on me, especially when I’m forced to hear from Dani on days when I’m just not in the mood. So I hang up, say a quick prayer, and wait for Neil’s problem to come over here and become mine.

Once Dani arrives and brings Brax in the house, the first thing I produce is an ear thermometer. Every mother in America needs to have one.

“Dani, this won’t take long. Let’s go up to my room.”

Hearing Dani walk up the stairs behind me is strange. Her footsteps sounds light and sophisticated compared to my hard stomps. Moments later, I can’t believe she’s in my and Neil’s bedroom. It feels awkward, but she needs to be here.

Dani sets Braxton in my arms and I place him on the bed. Puddling tears cloud his eyes. Through his wetness I notice him seeking his mother. That stings. I take his temp. Within seconds the reading says a hundred degrees.

“Dani, this is a tough call. I can see if he were a hundred and two or higher. Then we’d have to go to the ER. But maybe if we get him cooled off, give him lots of liquids, and pat his face and chest with a lukewarm towel, his temp might go down.”

“Yeah, all right. I’m guessing he’s still recovering from the virus he caught last week. He was really suffering, and I sure don’t want it to flare up again.”

Within an hour, and after lots of TLC, the baby’s restlessness and tears subside. He clutches two of his mom’s fingers, until sleep takes over and she’s able to pull away from his frightened grip.

Now Dani is sitting on the edge of the chair bending forward, her head sunk in her hands, strands of long, wild hair falling about her face. I lift the baby and press him against my breast, walking a few paces, and patting him gently on his back. He smells like newness, his skin is so soft. Holding Brax reminds me of when Reesy was his age. I take him to the nursery, lay him in his crib, and notice my arms trembling right before I close the door.

When I return to my room, Dani is peering out the window.

“What are you thinking about, Dani?”

She speaks but doesn’t face me. “How good and exemplary you are.”

“Save it.”

She turns around slowly. “Seriously. I’m sure you’re cursing me out inside your head.” She laughs, then stops. “I really shouldn’t be here, right? Under the circumstances, I don’t know any other woman who would let me in her bedroom.” Her voice is a whisper, a stunned acknowledgment that, yes, I am married to her guy.

“I don’t want to claim that I’m good, Dani. That would be stretching it. I have my days, you know, when I don’t feel like a good person, when I don’t think good thoughts or say good things. But that’s beside the point. What I wanna know is, why’d you do it?”

Her eyes enlarge, crammed with bewilderment. “Do what? Call you about Brax?”

“Why’d you sleep with Neil?”

She lowers her head, stares past my voice. “Anya, didn’t we already have this conversation? Don’t say anything. I know the an—”

“That was then, this is now. I’m nobody’s fool—not for long, anyway—and I want you to explain what possesses you to continue lying down with my husband after we’ve had our talks. I’ve welcomed you into my—”

I swing around and tightly close my eyes. If a wall was near enough, I’d either slap it with all my might, or lean against it for support.

“Anya, you don’t know…what you’re talking about. W–we don’t do that. Not anymore. I can’t remember the last time…”

I turn back around and face her while she’s still yakking, unimpressed by the way she wildly swings her arms while she’s explaining.

“You’re a terrible liar, Dani. I know what you’ve done, and all I have to say is this: Brax is business, and business is business, and I’m fine with that. But please don’t sleep with Neil anymore.”

“Didn’t you hear me? W–why are you—”

“I’m sure Neil never bothered to tell you this, but a little while ago, on a Sunday night, he came home smelling different. Acting peculiar. And when I sat next to him, we ended up holding hands and, to be honest, one thing led to another. We ended up here, in the bedroom. Imagine how I felt when I started kissing my husband’s body, my lips are on his thighs, and a piece of long, curly hair ends up in my mouth.”

Dani’s eyes flicker with the hurt of betrayal. She takes wide steps toward the bedroom door. I rush next to her and put my hand on the doorknob. Her fingers fall on top of mine and feel as slippery as raindrops.

“Look, Dani. You don’t have to explain anything to me, but you’d better hope I never find your hair on his body again.”

Dani tries to pry my fingers from the doorknob. I pull my hand away, wiping off her guilty sweat. She leaves the room mumbling, headed toward Braxton.

Truthfully, even though that’s my husband’s kid, a kid he loves more than life itself, I hope it’s a long time before I see Brax or his mama again.

Sometimes hope rewards us, and gives us what we’ve wished for. Other times hope remains hope, not yet fulfilled. I guess this is why Dani shows up at my house the next afternoon unannounced. I go to the front door and peer through the peephole, noting her wide eyes, which are crammed with worry. She is pressing my doorbell, wearing out her welcome with her constant ringing before she’s even slipped into the house.

Knowing it would be wrong to pretend I’m not home, especially with Reesy standing next to me yelling, “Mommy, open the door,” I swing the door open.

“Yes,” I say.

“May I come in?”

“What do you
want
?”

“I’m sorry, Anya, but I–I think I left something important here yesterday.”

I let her in, actually relieved that she’s standing in front of my face. The way I put her on blast yesterday, she could’ve headed straight for Galveston. Screw me and my warnings. Every whore doesn’t scare easily. That much I know.

“Is what you left upstairs?” I ask. “What is it? I’ll look.”

“Well, may I go? It’s in the baby’s room.”

I flinch. “Where is he, by the way?”

“I begged Audrey to give me some free time. Literally,” she laughs. “I needed to do a little grocery shopping and run out to the ceramics store. Told her I’ll pay her when I get the chance. I have some things lined up—more baskets to tend to, actually. So she came and got—”

“Okay, okay, never mind. Go on upstairs.”

“Thanks, Anya.”

“Mommy, where’s my brother?” Reesy grabs and tugs at my hand, pulling me toward the den.

“Reesy, I wish you wouldn’t call him that. Just call him Braxton.”

“I do call him Braxton. I love Braxton. That’s my baby brother.”

“Who told you to call him that? Dani?”

“Auntie Vette did.”

“She did? What a bitch.”

“Mommy!”

“Oh, God.” I kneel and cover my daughter’s ears with my hands. I kiss her on the cheek and squeeze her tiny frame, feeling the hardness of her bones. “I’m so sorry, Precious. That slipped out.”

“Ooooh, Mommy, you said a bad word, you gotta put a dollar in the jar.”

I stand up and take a breath so deep it feels like I’m about to disappear. I go to the kitchen, find my wallet, and hand over a dollar to Reesy. She removes the lid from a pickle jar and adds the bill to the other ones. Recently, I promised to stop using so much profanity. I feel tremendous guilt when I forbid my daughter to watch certain TV shows and movies that have tons of curse words I use myself.

“Thank you, Cursing Police Woman.” I smile and pat the top of Reesy’s braids. “You’re doing a great job. You are, you are.”

“I know, Mommy.”

“Thanks, kiddo.”

“Love you, Mommy.”

I want to say “I love you, too,” but suddenly Dani is bounding down the stairs, beaming.

I give her the eye. “I am assuming you found whatever you were looking for.”

“Yep.” She waves a credit card. “I always put these in the pockets of my jackets, and yep, my jacket was here, and so was my card, thank goodness.”

“Good. Where was the jacket?”

“Lying on a chair in Brax’s room. But guess what else I found?”

I freeze.

“What?” I ask, annoyed.

“Is this something that you’ve seen before?”

She opens up a closed fist. In the center of her palm is my diamond ring. I yelp and jump a foot in the air. “Give me that. Oh my God! Where’d you find this? I gotta call Neil.”

I run to the phone, heart joyfully lifted, and dial up my husband on his cell.

He sounds relieved and tells me, “Some things you lose you find them again. Other things you lose are lost forever.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, and I just laugh and hang up the phone.

“Whew, Dani, you just don’t know…” I place the ring on my finger and the corners of my mouth draw upward.

“It
is
gorgeous,” she says, eyes flickering with admiration.

“Well, I guess I must’ve taken it off one day,” I tell her, and glance at my hand. “I was cleaning the walls up there. God, I almost had given up.”

Dani smiles, nods absently.

“Well, uh…” I frown. “Hmmm, jeez.”

“Oh, I better be on my way. I’m sure Audrey is counting the minutes till I come back. She does that, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. But I’ll let you go. Thank you sooo much. I mean it. I don’t know what else to say.”

“You’ve said enough, Anya. Good-bye. And bye, Miss Reesy.”

Solomon’s Temple.

I cannot stand bell-bottoms, but that’s what Neil decides to wear. Bell-bottoms that are part of one of those seventies ugly Angel flight suits. It has the tan jacket, vest, flared pants, and silk shirt with the pockets. Pure D ugly. Then there’s that huge, floppy Afro wig. Ridiculous. I can’t talk, though. Check me out with my button-down shirtdress, complete with a wide metal belt. I’m sporting some black fishnet stockings and these short black boots with a two-inch heel. I feel silly yet wild. There’s a disposable camera in my purse, and I can’t wait to see what everyone else looks like. Then I want to settle in and listen to the concert.

Neil and I haven’t been out together in weeks. His fault, not mine. Whenever I suggest we go somewhere, he’s not up to it. But tonight, we’ll see what happens tonight.

“Anya, look over there.” Neil is talking to the back of my head. He is a few steps behind me trying to keep up. I am walking fast trying to locate our seats.

“Anya!” he yells louder. But the pre-concert music is louder than he is. A great excuse to continue walking, huh? I am gripping this big old purse, clutching it to my side while it bangs against my thigh. I’m partly trying to get away from Neil, and peeking at the other concertgoers’ outfits.

Platforms. Long-sleeve flowered shirts. Dashikis. Some kids are wearing Afro wigs covered by apple hats, looking just like the Jackson 5, but not as adorable. I don’t feel as silly now that I know there are other self-possessed people here willing to dress the part.

Lights are flashing across the room like we’re at a nighttime football game. This oughta be fun.

Neil stands next to me. Stares. “Whatcha think so far? You feel like running out of here screaming?”

“Not yet, silly,” I tell him. “I’ll be all right. It doesn’t even feel like church. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Hope nobody starts stripping.”

“Don’t even worry about that. Nothing that crazy is gonna happen in here.”

As soon as the concert begins, I sneak out my mini tape recorder and turn it on.

“You know you aren’t supposed to have any recording devices in here,” Neil says, pressing his mouth against my ear.