My Husband's Girlfriend (15 page)

A live female finally answers the line.

“Is there a man available?” I ask.

“No, just me, Sister Zaire. I hope that’s okay with you. What’s the problem, brother?”

“I–I am doing something that’s hurting my family.”

“I see.” Zaire pauses. “Do you want to go into more detail?”

I–I have a problem,
I admit in my mind.

I take a deep breath. “I have a problem being faithful to my wife.”

“Ahh, okay, well, you aren’t facing anything that the Lord can’t handle. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, there is a way out, brother. And even if you can’t understand it, God loves you just the way you are.”

“Hmmm…”

“He loves us,” Zaire continues, “but He wants to help us with those issues that prevent us from having the most complete relationship with Him. Not to be preachy, but may I share two Scriptures with you, please? I think they can help you.”

“Go ahead. I need all the help I can get.”

“Brother, I just want to preface this by saying adultery is an indication that our relationship with the Lord is not what it could be. Is it okay for me to surmise that about you? I don’t want to judge you, but I need to know where you’re coming from.”

“Yes,” I whisper. I close my eyes and feel a shameful yet sad release within my soul.

“Well, Jeremiah 3:8 says, ‘And I saw, when for all the causes whereby back-sliding Israel committed adultery I had put her away, and given her a bill of divorcement.’ You know what that means?”

“What?”

“It just means that you do belong to the Lord,” Zaire explains. “He knows that you’re His, He’s jealous, and He wants you back.”

“O–okay.”

“Does that make sense? Any loving husband would want his wife back, and vice versa. It’s not because you agree with what they’ve done; it’s just that you know that you two belong to each other. See what I’m saying? God loved the children of Israel, no doubt, and He took a whole lot of mess off of them.”

“Right,” I murmur. “I’ve seen
The Ten Commandments
a million times.”

“Good for you.” Zaire laughs. “But I also want to share another Scripture. Ephesians 5:25 says, ‘Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave Himself for it.’”

“But I do love my wife.”

“How do you know that you do? By working every day?”

“Yeah.”

“You buy her nice things?”

“So much stuff she forgets sometimes,” I tell her.

“But do you give her you?” Zaire asks.

“What?”

“Brother, one thing that might help is if you remember all the things Christ did to show that He loves the church. Study those Scriptures. Examine yourself. And if you fall short in those areas, follow the Lord’s example. Sacrifice. Give the deepest parts of yourself. A lot of married couples don’t know that—that it’s the husband’s job to cover his wife with love. And loving her is about the only thing that’s going to help you.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” I ask loudly. “I try my best to love my wife. She knows I do. She doesn’t have to work or pay bills. I handle all that. If she asks that small renovations be done around the house, I see that it gets done. And I’m a good father. All that proves how I feel.”

“But does all that make her happy, brother? And are there other things that she wants but you refuse to give them to her, simple as they might be?”

“I–I don’t know.” My face burns. “Could be. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, regardless, I’m glad you’ve called here today. I think that based on that action, you are expressing a type of love, so that’s a positive thing. And we’ll take this issue to the Lord in prayer, but you’re going to have to remember to apply what you’ve heard through the Scriptures I gave you.”

I tell Zaire okay, but I’m not totally grasping her recommendations. And if I don’t fully understand, am I capable of fulfilling what’s expected of me?

15

Anya

It’s a Friday evening in late January. I’ve decided to do something
rare—go major grocery shopping by myself, without my kid or sister-in-law tagging along. I decide to take Neil’s vehicle this time. I rarely drive his car, but the Honda is a little too small for the amount of groceries I hope to buy.

The minute I find myself deep inside the store, I wonder why I felt I had to come here. I’m in Stafford, Texas, at the Super Wal-Mart. It has groceries, shoes, health and beauty aids, clothes—it has
everything.
Including screaming little people. Lots of them. Knowing there’s nothing legal I can do to get these kids to stay quiet, I tune out their energetic voices and head for a quieter part of the store—the fresh fruits and veggies section.

I bag some oranges, green onions, tomatoes, broccoli, and yellow squash.

“Hey, hon, you sure have a serious look on your face today.”

I look up to find Riley, who’s standing in front of the turnip greens. She’s wearing a cute lavender warm-up jacket and matching pants, and her jacket zipper is zipped down far enough so you can see her cleavage. But I am so not in the mood to talk to Riley and I merely wave. I grab the handle of my shopping basket.

“Hey, Ms. Anya, don’t leave yet. I haven’t seen or spoken to you in weeks. Remember?” She smiles that beautiful smile of hers. I sigh inwardly and wait for Riley to do her thing.

“I just wanted to tell you what’s been going on with me.” Her eyes twinkle with enthusiasm. “I finally did it.”

“‘It’?”

“Got rid of Jamal. I thought about how he claimed he wanna be a good daddy to Mika, and that’s why he feels he gotta be able to enter my premises at all times.” She rolls her eyes. “Well, that’s all fine, good, and wonderful, but I figured just because Jamal fathered Mika doesn’t give him the right to roll up into my house all times of the day and night. He only did it when it was convenient for him, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, thinking of Neil.

“So…” Riley leans near me and lowers her voice. “I waited until I knew he’d be gone for a couple days and I changed the locks on the door.” She laughs. “Jamal was sooo pissed and couldn’t believe I’d go there. He started banging on my door yelling and stuff. Did you hear it?”

I shake my head.

“Thank God you didn’t,” she says. “Anyway, he kept trying to get me to open the door, but then he called me from his cell phone, and I broke it down to him. My voice was strong. I wouldn’t back down on what I decided to do. And, Ms. Anya, finally, things are going the way I want them to.”

Her triumphant voice crackles. “It’s not that I’m trying to be a mean bitch.” She covers her mouth. “Oops, pardon me, I meant
witch.
I’m trying to implement positive changes in my life, so the profanity has to go.”

“What kind of positive changes are you making, other than Jamal?”

“I wanted to enter the new year with a whole new attitude. I’ve been attending this great church and it’s making a difference. But I still have a long way to go.” She examines her cleavage and pulls up the zipper. “I mean, I love to look hot, but I’m finding out maybe that’s not the best way to attract a quality man. I always attract men who are interested in me only for one wild night in the sack. It’s meant some good loving but that grew old, too, so, hey, gotta try something different. If you do the same old thing, you’ll keep having the same old thing. And these days I’ve been hitting the gym, drinking more bottled water, reading…” She laughs. “Me reading something other than hair magazines—can you imagine that?”

No, I can’t, I think to myself, and stare at her. Besides the warm-up gear, I do perceive something different about Riley. She seems relaxed, no worry lines decorating her forehead. She’s glowing like someone excited about her fantastic future. I wince and swallow the lump in my throat.

“So, as I was saying,” she continues, “no more hit-and-runs. I plan to be celibate.” She stares at me conspiratorially. “You don’t know how hard it is to stitch up nookie, lock it up so long it gets rusty and you’re forced to do a rain dance just to raise it from the dead the next time you feel horny. But I gotta do it, Ms. Anya.” She pauses. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it. I miss having sex, sure, but it’s the emotional baggage that comes with it that I don’t miss. Anyway, I’ve talked your ears off. Just wanted to holler at you. How’s the hubby? I trust that he’s fine. Hey, gotta roll. It was good to see you. Feel free to stop by my place if you want, so we can chat. I have some great books I could hand off to you. Self-esteem stuff. Really good reading. Well, I’m outta here.”

“Hold on.” I grab Riley’s arm. “Do you feel guilty about changing the locks?”

“Umm, no. Not when Jamal would violate me constantly. I don’t feel bad at all. And now he seems to respect me more. But I still gotta watch him closely, make sure he’s not playing a role until he thinks I’ll give in and hand over a dupe, which I won’t do. I barely let him in the place anymore. Just the foyer. Not in my kitchen and definitely not in my bed. Uh-uhhh, them days long gone. Mmm-hmm. Oh, well.” She shudders. “Gotta run. Time for Pilates class. They offer free day care, too.” She grabs me around the shoulder and gives me a solid hug. She smells outstanding. An aroma that matches her attitude. An aroma that stays with me long after I leave the store.

It’s midweek. Reesy is in the den looking at a rented video that’s due in two days. I tiptoe to the library. Open and shut the door. I look around at dozens of books shelved on oak bookcases. There’s a wooden coatrack and a wooden trunk. Neil even has a wooden newspaper rack. I see a
USA Today
spread out on the floor next to the sofa. It has a crease in it and is turned to the crossword puzzle. I slump on the couch and let my hand droop over the sofa, tracing the newspaper with my fingers. There’s a slight bulge underneath the paper. I pick up the crossword section and stare.

There’s a glossy, smelly mag. Maybe he’s not exactly trying to hide it. The magazine is turned to the centerfold. Let’s see here. She’s Asian. Oh, great! Looks like Kimora Simmons, the wife of Russell Simmons. This centerfold is sitting naked on a horse, out in a grassy field somewhere. How brave she must be to smile for the camera and rub herself against a horse. She’s gripping her jumbo breasts. And I thought mine were a mouthful.

I continue turning the pages. All the girls possess the kind of beauty that makes other women feel ugly, invisible, unwanted. But these beautiful women look innocent for some reason, like they’re happy about what they’re doing and proud of themselves. I think of the irony of how even though I do not agree with them publicly displaying their bodies, they themselves seem satisfied with who and what they are. And if that’s the case, the world is going to hell in a handbasket.

I place the magazine back where it was. Why confront Neil? I’ve known about his habits for a while. I’ve seen the
Girls Gone Wild
videotapes that show up in our house. It’s not like he has hundreds of these tapes that he can’t stop watching. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is I have failed to keep my hubby aroused. I’ve been looking for him to do his part, but maybe he’s waiting on me.

Deep inside I know he’s been waiting for years, since long before we even agreed to a marital arrangement. But the two miscarriages made me view myself differently. Neil specifically wanted a Neil Jr. I wanted to give him a son, but when my body couldn’t sustain the two pregnancies, I felt empty. I shut down. And if I went to the grocery store and saw mothers with infants, I started weeping uncontrollably. After a while I didn’t want to go outside anymore. So I stayed in the house—in fact, quite near the refrigerator. The more I ate extra helpings of food, the less I cared about intimacy, especially after Neil shut down, too, for a while.

But all that was so long ago. Nothing can change the past, but I have the power to affect the future. So maybe it’s time to switch gears. If a woman feels threatened, fear can force her to do something different.

Feeling silly but determined, I growl, “Rrrrrrrrr,” and bat my eyelashes. Does that sound or look seductive or do I look like a fool? I have on a long-sleeve shirt. I pull it down off my shoulder, and the air flows and tickles my skin. It does feel kind of sexy. And I am wearing shorts today. My legs, hmmm…I remember when Neil would worship my legs and thighs. He liked to trace his fingers against my skin until I shivered and giggled and begged him to stop. I feel like I need some of that right now. I need—

I pick up the phone and dial. Kyra, the receptionist, patches me through to Neil’s line.

“What were you doing?” I ask him.

“Who is this?”

“Don’t even try it.”

He laughs. “Just testing you.”

“Don’t do that, Neil. You might flunk
my
test.”

He clears his throat. “What’s going on, Anya?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m bored, Neil.”

“You’re always bored. I warned you that you’d get tired of being around the house all day.”

“I don’t wanna go back to work, though. I don’t really know what I want to do.” I feel silly. I know my husband doesn’t have time to listen to this kind of conversation, but isn’t that the point? If someone loves you, won’t they put up with things that get on their nerves?

“Why don’t you go to a movie?” he says.

“Yeah, right. Don’t forget I have the little one here. That means I’m only eligible to view flicks like
Finding Nemo.
It was a cute movie, but hey…”

“Tell you what. I promise to watch Reese this weekend. You go out, do whatever you want to do, relax.”

I bite my bottom lip, appreciative of his generosity. I know it’s his way of making up for what happened that night at China Bear after the concert at Solomon’s Temple. I know Neil showed remorse in his own way, but I walked out the restaurant before his apology could take root.

“My taking time to relax sounds quite heavenly, Neil, but I have a different plan. There’s something I’m thinking of doing, but you may have to drop Reesy off at my mom’s.”

“Oh yeah?” Even when I can tell my husband is distracted due to work, I love hearing his voice. Deep, resonating, and husky even if he’s not trying to sound that way.

“Yep. And on that note, let me go,” I tell him. “I’ll get dinner started.”

“We’re supposed to eat out tonight.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind cooking. I have nervous energy and I—”

“You’re too much, Anya, I tell ya.”

Don’t I know it, I think, and hang up the phone.

That Friday I personally whisk Reesy away to my mother’s house. She’s gone even before Neil arrives home from work, and even Vette is away for the weekend. So, a couple of hours ago, I called him and told him to come straight home and that he should stop by the foyer as soon as he gets in.

I’m wearing a black negligee. The only light on in the house is the glow that comes from seven lit candles. A Gerald Levert CD plays in the background. I’ve taken a moisturizing vanilla bubble bath and it feels good to smell fresh. I am in the house all by myself, laughing every few seconds.

Now I am perched on the couch in the den. I press my hand against myself—against, you know, down
there
—and I know I shouldn’t do this. It feels like the hardest task I’ve ever had to face in my life, but I need to see, no matter how scared I am, if my efforts will be rewarded.

What’s that noise? I hear the garage door opening, closing. Hurry, hurry up, you fool, I think to myself. I stroke myself again and exhale.

I listen to Neil open and close the front door. Hear his footsteps in the foyer.

“Hmm, okay,” I hear him say.

I hear paper ripping; he’s found the note card I left.
Hurry up, doggone it.
I move my hand to my mouth and bear down on it hard enough to leave a teeth imprint. I sit back on the sofa, cross my legs.
Please hurry, Neil, please.

I hear other movement, and a soft chuckle. Good, he must be following my instructions. I sit on my hands and wait. Five, four, three, two…

“Anya?” he calls out.

“Over here.”

Yep, he got undressed, like I instructed. He’s wearing a black silk robe, untied. I see his dick dangling like it’s looking for me. I block out everything—miscarriage, marital arrangement, all the issues that have interfered with our ability to connect sexually—and I recognize that it’s my duty to try something different and expect the best. I know I love my husband in spite of everything.

Neil walks slowly toward me, his enlarged eyes fixed on my outfit. The candlelight flickers and I’m hoping it makes me look like a thick Halle Berry. I want to giggle but remind myself to stay cool. Sexy. In control.

Neil gasps and drops to his knees in front of me. He stares at me, at my hair, which is actually a weave. Today I got lengthy human hair sewn into my natural hair. He reaches out and touches the long strands. I kiss his hand. It’s too close not to kiss.

“Anya,” he says. It sounds like a question that is insulting yet I understand.

“I’m yours, Neil.” I begin removing the negligee, untying each strand while I watch him. His eyes are bigger than I’ve ever seen them; they are so big, it looks like someone is pulling the skin from the back of his head. Yuck. I slowly pull the negligee off my shoulders, slide it down to my waist. Then I stand up and let it fall to my ankles. Neil stuffs his face against my jumbo breasts, kissing one, then the other. I want to shout but I have to hold it in. Instead I coolly dab at a tear that’s developed in one eye.