On the Line (3 page)

I figured I would go home, take a long hot bath, get comfortable and wait for Antoine. Who knew, maybe I'd even surprise him and make dinner. Instead of pulling into the garage, I parked in the driveway and just grabbed my laptop and toiletry bag out of the car. Antoine could get the big suitcase out of the trunk for me later.

This time, I didn't fumble with the keys. When I entered the foyer I noticed the lights were on. I called out to Antoine but received no response. I set my purse and keys on the little table right next to the door and stepped out of my pumps. As I walked down the hallway to the bedroom, I began removing my blazer and unbuttoning my shirt. That bathtub had my name on it. But I was rooted mid-stride when I heard sounds coming from my bedroom. My mind was playing tricks on me, because even though I knew what the sounds were, I told myself it was the television. Willing my legs to move, I managed to make it to the bedroom door that was ajar. There it was again.
“Oooooh, Toiinnnne, don't stop, baby, please!”
the voice said breathlessly.

I actually stood outside the door wondering how I should make my entrance, if at all. My mind was racing. Should I barge in mid-orgasm? Wait for them to finish? Or, go back to the kitchen and microwave a large bowl of water to boiling? I could even go for the bat in the hall closet, but that might make too much noise. Just as I had mustered up enough courage to storm in, I guess Miss Thang had reached the pinnacle of her orgasm. She began mewling like a wounded animal.
“Ooooooh, baby, it's so, soooooo, good. Pleeeeeze.”
I could hear the springs in the bed creaking in rhythm to Antoine's pace and his heavy breathing. I had to admit, Antoine was great in the sack, but I was not as vocal during sex as this whore. Standing there, thinking of all the times we had made love in this very same bed made me physically ill. I turned and ran to the hall bathroom and fell to my knees in front of the toilet. I must have thrown up everything I had eaten for the past two days. I felt so sick and weak. But now my cover was blown and the element of surprise gone. I could hear scrambling and then bare feet running on the hardwood floors in the hallway. I composed myself enough to get my head out of the toilet and prop myself up with my elbow. I had to have a little bit of dignity. I also wanted to see the expression on Antoine's face. When the running stopped, I looked up and there he was, standing in the doorway clad in only his boxers with her, whoever she was, right behind him with my top sheet draped around her like she was posing for some Roman advertisement. She was about my height and build, a shade lighter with a short, trendy haircut. Attractive, but she didn't have anything on me, except for Antoine, I guess.

I flushed the toilet, still trying to keep my dignity intact. A little wobbly, I stood watching the expressions on both their faces.

“Baby, I wasn't expecting you until later this evening. What's wrong?”

I really couldn't believe he had just asked me what was wrong as he stood three feet away from me with the woman he had just had sex with.

“Are you joking?” I managed to reply. “Antoine, who is this ho and why is she still standing here?” I screamed, getting stronger by the minute. By now, I was standing and making my way over to them. I lunged at her, but Antoine blocked the doorway while she ran back to my bedroom. I was blind with rage as I pounded Antoine's chest and struggled to get out of his grasp.

“I'm sorry, Amaya. Baby, I'm sorry. I would give anything to take this back,” he said, keeping me locked in a bear hug. Just then, the tramp walked down the hallway, half-dressed, and opened the front door. “Call me when you get your life together, Antoine,” she yelled, and slammed the door.

“Why, Antoine? Why?” I screamed.

“I know it might sound cliché, but it just kind of happened. I mean, you're gone so much.” I broke free from his grasp and walked into the living room.

“She must really be something in the sack for you to bring her to our home and into our bed,” I said, more to myself. But his silence spoke volumes. “So, how long has this been going on?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Almost a year,” he said quietly as he took a seat on the sofa.

I walked back down the hall to the bedroom before the tears could reach my cheeks and began packing another suitcase. This time I would not be returning.

As I made my way from Los Angeles back to Phoenix from yet another client meeting, my head remained in the clouds. I hadn't been able to focus at work nor when I was with James or Mark. When at work, I used the excuse that I was having problems at home, which was no lie. When at home with Mark or James, I said it was very hectic at work. During the weeks that followed my discovery of Antoine, I sent for the rest of my things, of course making sure they were sent to a hotel. I changed my cell phone number, had my mail forwarded to a post office box and filed for divorce. I could not forgive Antoine for his infidelity no matter how hard I tried. Perhaps, if it had been a one-or two-time deal, but it had been a relationship that spanned nearly a year, which meant there were feelings involved. Also, when I thought back to that evening and the following conversations, Antoine was not really all that remorseful. Of course, he was sorry that he had been caught, but the fact is that he was in love with me and Sheila. That was her name. He told me that himself. The funny thing was, he had no idea how much I understood that part of it. But I needed to be number one. I needed him to be monogamous. I was faithful to our marriage just as I was faithful to my other two marriages. Just because I was not around as much as he would like was no excuse for him to have an affair. The saddest part of this was that I had been with Antoine for a total of seven years, the longest I had been with any man. It would take some time for me to fully recover from this, but I had to keep up the image of being in control of my emotions.

Fortunately, there would not be much for us to divide as part of the divorce settlement. We had no children. Of course, there was the condo and our cars, which were both paid for. But, in order to expedite things, I was giving him the house. My car had been sold back to the dealer and in addition to our separate bank accounts, we had a little over one hundred thousand dollars in a joint account. I didn't see that as a problem. Split down the middle…a clean break. That was all I wanted.

 

It had been a little over two months, and Antoine and I would be officially divorced in another three weeks. I had been so drained during this time and it seemed that everything just required too much energy. I could not even remember the last time I worked out. Before flying out, James made me promise to be seen by the doctor, just to check things out. I managed to squeeze in an appointment before leaving. On the surface everything checked out, but Dr. Shipley was thorough. She drew blood, suggested I take more iron and get more rest.

 

The following Monday afternoon, I had the rare occasion to have a few hours while in Phoenix to run some errands. Later that evening, I was scheduled to fly back to Los Angeles for my weekly client meeting.

Just as I pulled up in front of the post office, my cell phone rang.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Hi, Amaya. It's Dr. Shipley,” the voice on the other end responded.

“How is everything?”

“Just fine.”

“I'm sure you have good news for me!” I said excitedly.

“I sure do. You're nine weeks' pregnant,” she said.

 

Five months later…

 

I smoothed my hand along the duvet and stood back, taking the room all in. It was beautiful. So much had changed since I found out I was pregnant. At that time I had been blindsided, but my need to be in control overrode good judgment and I made an appointment the following week to terminate the pregnancy. I even went so far as to go to the appointment and get prepped for the procedure, but just could not go through with it. It dawned on me that the baby growing inside me was the only thing that was truly mine and that would love me no matter what, even with all my flaws.

After traveling two to three times a week for the past five years, the time had come for me to slow down. I took a leave of absence from my job with no real intention of returning. I could not possibly keep the schedule I had kept in the past. I gave the room another once-over, admiring the neutral, pastel green-and-yellow pattern that colored the room. The nursery was perfect. I sat in the rocking chair near the window looking out over the busy hustle and bustle of the city.

Although I was filled with joy and looked forward to what the future held and what type of mother I would become, I missed my old way of life. There was a void because my divorce with Antoine had been finalized and, soon after learning I was pregnant, I filed for a legal separation from James. I never went back home to Phoenix, because I just couldn't bear to see his face. He had to have been devastated, and yet I didn't file for divorce because a part of me felt the need to leave the door open…to what? I didn't know. Perhaps it would be perceived by James as less cruel. I just couldn't deal with either of them right now.

Mark and I had settled into a nice rhythm. Since I wasn't working, life was great for him, but even carrying the baby, I was still hollow inside. I believe you will always in some way be connected to a person you've been married to.

“Honey, you ready?” Mark asked, appearing in the doorway.

“Yeah, just let me get my sweater,” I said, lifting myself out of the rocking chair.

“We don't want to be late for your doctor's appointment. Although I'm sure little Mark Jr. is as healthy as a horse,” he said excitedly.

I smiled lovingly, wondering how long this wedded bliss would last after Mark Jr. or Antoine Jr. was born.

 

By the time Macy is finished, tears are rolling down my eyes from laughing so hard. “How do these crazy broads get themselves into these messes?”

Macy wipes her eyes. “You got me. What's crazier is that they actually write in.”

“True.” I snap my fingers. “Tonight's first topic will be Women Who Cheat and Get Screwed.”

Macy gives me a high five as we laugh some more.

“Whew. Look, I'm going to jump in the shower and get myself together. Fix yourself something to eat or whatever, then we can head over to the studio.”

“Cool. I'm starved.” She heads to the kitchen and me to the bathroom.

At about eight we pile into my Jag and drive to the WHOT studio, which is located in lower Manhattan.

“So do you think there's going to be many changes with the new management in place?” Macy asks as we pull into the employees-only parking garage.

I shrug. “Who knows? Anytime some new suits take over, there're changes. As long as they leave me alone we're cool.”

We get out and I hand my keys to the valet. We walk to the underground elevator and up to the tenth floor.

The studio is buzzing with activity as usual. We wave to the night owls who hold the station down and head to our booth. Macy goes into the control room to get set up and I begin organizing my letters for the show. I adjust my headset, draw in a deep breath and wait for Macy's signal.

She gives me the five-second countdown. And it's showtime….

“H
old on to your seats, it's Joy Newhouse in your house. Forget that easy listening music, put the love songs on hold. This is WHOT and you're
On the Line,
” I sing in my trademark falsetto. “We have another hot show lined up for you and we're going to kick it off with Women Who Cheat and Get Screwed. Yeah, you heard me. Put your feet up on the table and check out these tales from two of our devout listeners. We'll be taking calls.”

I read the letters with all the drama the stories entail, complete with sound effects. By the time I'm finished, the board is lit up like the Fourth of July. I take a few calls then I notice Macy signaling me from the booth. Her eyes are wide and she has both thumbs up. Her signal for a “hot” one.

“We have a call on the line, folks, and it sounds like a good one.” I depress the button.

“You're on the line!” I chime in with sassy flavor.

“I don't want,” the caller whispers, “to do this anymore.”

I smile inside. I have a sixth sense when it comes to the callers with real dirt to dish. I subconsciously adjust my headphones, touch the microphone more out of habit than to reposition it and sit up a little straighter. “What can I call you? “

“Daphne R—”

“Just your first name, Daphne. And what is it that you want to tell me?” I probe.

With a great sigh the caller begins. “I've been living a lie.”

“Come on, Daph, who among us doesn't have a secret or two?” I pause for effect. “So what makes your secret so special?”

“It's not just a secret.” Daphne inhales with great emphasis. “It's a secret life. Almost like double jeopardy.”

My ears perk like a championship German shepherd beneath the headphones. “So you're having an affair. Unfortunately, that doesn't make you so special these days. Every minute of every day someone is cheatin' in the next room.”

The caller begins again slowly. “I'm living a double life. I mean two homes, two husbands, two sets of children.”

“Say what?” Another one, I think. What the hell…

“You heard me. I have two lives.”

“Aiight, I'll bite. How in the hell can
you
have two sets of children?”

“I met my first husband when I was in college and he was in medical school. We fell in love and were married the Saturday after I graduated. I took a government job and he continued with medical school. When he took an internship in another state, I stayed at home because I loved what I do.”

“You're snoozing me here, Daph.”

“You said to start at the beginning!”

“Can we fast-forward to the juice?”

“While he was off learning to save lives, I delved into my work and got promoted twice. With the second promotion came the opportunity to travel to foreign countries to work for weeks, even months, at a time.”

I begin making a snoring sound.

“Okay. Okay. About six months into one of my assignments I met Salvador. He was charming, handsome, fun and there.”

“So you had an affair, not headline news, like I said in the beginning.”

“At first it was an affair to end all affairs. Only he never knew, because I told him I was single. Meanwhile back at home my husband finished his medical training and got a job near our home.

“He wanted me to change my job so I could be at home more, but I refused. He reasoned that I had patiently waited for him to do his thing, so he felt he had no right to ask me to give up what I loved. He didn't know it was Salvador that I was loving!”

“Can we get to the two-husbands, two-sets-of-children part?”

“Things were fine for a year or so. I'd go off to work in Brazil for weeks or months and my husband would be at home doing his thing. One night while we were having dinner, Salvador took a little black box from his pocket, got on one knee and asked me to marry him. When I opened the box, the brilliance of the huge rock stunned me. Without giving it a thought, I said yes.”

“So Sal baby still didn't know you were married?”

“Salvador
still
doesn't know I'm married!”

“Okay, I've got to admit, you've got me curious. Go on.”

“Meanwhile, when I returned to the States the next day, Eric, my
husband,
welcomed me home with open arms. On our way from the airport we take a different route than usual and when I question him he simply says, ‘I have a dreamy surprise for you.' He pulls in front of a beautiful house with a huge bow on the front door. At that moment, I knew we belonged together.

“When I looked at him, I saw a man who truly loved me and I couldn't bring myself to hurt him. We'd grown up together. We were both children in adult bodies with big dreams when we met and we had lived those dreams. We belonged together.”

“Okay, so now we have to tell Sal this ain't gonna happen?”

“That was truly my plan.” Daphne begins to talk faster. “The six weeks I was at home with my husband were wonderful and so busy we didn't even have time to take a deep breath. The night before I had to return to Brazil he looked at me and said I made him complete and that we were going to fill the house with babies that would grow up to be great leaders.

“When I closed the car door I had every intention to break it off with Salvador the minute I landed.”

“So, since you're on the line confessing your sins of bigamy, I know that didn't come to pass.”

In a defeated tone, Daphne says, “No.”

“What
did
happen?”

“When I arrived, Salvador was waiting for me as usual, but grinning brighter and broader than I had ever seen. Since it was our custom to have dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, I thought nothing of his taking me there. Once we stepped inside, the place was packed with cheering friends and family. It was an engagement party!”

“I can see things getting a little more complex. Go on.”

“Everyone told me how much they loved me and welcomed me to the family. But when his mother told me that she never thought her Salvador would find a woman to give her grandchildren it ripped my heart out. How could I break the news to them that I wasn't free to marry her son?”

“You set your jaw, part your lips and begin speaking.” I do nothing to hide my sarcasm.

“I knew I had to do it. But I had to choose the right time. And in a restaurant with a hundred people wasn't the right place.”

“So why didn't you tell him the minute you were alone?”

“I don't know,” Daphne whispers.

“Yeah you do. You saw the bling. You blingin' in the U.S. and now you blingin' in Brazil.” I laugh at my own quip. “I like that blingin' in Brazil!”

“How dare you pass judgment on me! You make me seem so materialistic.”

“If the Prada fits, diva!”

“I don't have to take this! I'm hanging up!”

“No, you're not. You love attention. That's your drug of choice. So you're the wife of a doctor with a government job that takes you to exotic lands and when you get to those exotic lands you're the wife of a Brazilian balla. Now you call me and want someone to feel sorry for you. You may as well get what you came for.”

Silence.

“Well?”

“Suppose, and only suppose, you're right. What should I do?”

“Let's not fast-forward quite that far. How did you end up with two husbands and two sets of children? I can't wait to hear how you pulled that one off!”

“I never got up the courage to tell Salvador about my life in the U.S. During my four-month tour of duty, we planned a wedding fit for royalty. With every rose petal ordered, every inch of lace measured for my dress and every hors d'oeuvre we sampled, I told myself I couldn't go through with the charade.”

“You said you were in Brazil for four months planning this wedding farce. Did you return to the U.S. before the wedding?”

“My assignment brought me back for two weeks.”

“And?”

“I was miserable. I knew I was in too deep. How could I pull this off? I went to my boss and asked to be reassigned, but that would require that I be demoted. I was the leader of the project and there wasn't another assignment available.”

“Now if you truly wanted out, you could have taken the demotion or found another job.”

“You don't understand, I love what I do. I am the only black woman in the world with this assignment.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Daphne to the second power! So you marry Salvador, obviously.”

“The wedding took place three days after I returned to Brazil. On a hilltop overlooking some of God's most beautiful handiwork, I stood and lied in front of Him and five hundred of Sal's relatives and friends from around the globe.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Almost four years.”

“And you're still married to both these men?” My tone suggests I felt Daphne was prone to hyperbole.

“Yes.”

“And you want out of which one?”

Loud silence fills the airwaves. “You know, this would be the perfect time to pay some bills. We'll be right back with Daphne, who will let us know who she's going to choose.”

Off the air, I speak quickly and to the point. “Look, Daphne, if that is your name. I don't know if you are yanking my chain or not, but this is the stuff great ratings are made of.”

“I swear to you, this is the truth. I am at my wit's end.” Daphne begins to choke back tears. “I just want out.”

“We'll be back on the air in forty-three seconds. Hold on to those tears.”

I hit the hold button and replace my headphones. I wasn't sure what to make of the story, but I also wanted to know where it was headed. Macy signals I'm back on the air. “Welcome back. In case you just tuned in, we're on the line with Daphne who has a biiiiig secret. Apparently, she's been living a double life for almost four years and counting. Well, we need to know how you pulled off two sets of children. Come on, girl. Tell it, tell it, tell it!”

“You make me sound like such a money-grubbing selfish person.”

“And you don't think you are?” I chuckle. “You've really deceived yourself, haven't you, honey?”

Silence.

“You know, if I tried to psychoanalyze you, I would get arrested for practicing medicine without a license. So I'm going to get back to what I'm truly good at, getting people to tell it all. So as I stated before, how in the hell do you have two sets of children?”

“Salvador wanted a baby right away and refused to accept any excuses.”

“Honey, you never got the memo
we
are in charge of, Ms. Kitty? Can't nobody
make
you have a baby!”

“You don't understand,” Daphne said. “Salvador is very persuasive.”

“Yeah, whatevah,” I mock. “Go on.”

“I got pregnant the first month we were married.”

“You don't seem to know how to move this story along, so let me help you out. How in the hell did you keep husband number one from finding out about the pregnancy from husband number two?”

“I left Brazil when I was six weeks. When I arrived home, everything was normal except me. I tried so hard to pretend it was, but I couldn't. I thought of every conceivable scenario to handle the mess I'd gotten myself into without anyone getting hurt. I could have an abortion and tell Sal I lost the baby, though every minute of every day as the baby grew inside me, I loved him a little more. There was no way I could try to convince a medical doctor that the baby was his. Besides, what would he say when I told him I was taking the baby back to Brazil with me?”

“Girl, this is one hot mess! We want to know what you did and we want to know it now! How did you get out of it?”

“I didn't
get out of it,
as you say. After ten days at home I told my husband I had been reassigned in Brazil and that I had to leave right away and I wasn't sure when I would be able to return because my assignment was classified—”

“Ain't that an understatement,” I interject. “And he bought this line of steaming buffalo chips?”

“He was reluctant but agreed. I took some vacation time from work and went to a mountain cabin to think.”

“So how'd that work for you?” My sarcasm is lost on Daphne.

“When I was there I decided that I'd return to Salvador and have the baby. After it was all over I'd just cut it off with Eric—you know, divorce him. I was in Brazil for almost a year and hardly ever called home. It gave me the fortitude I needed to make a clean break. When Sal Jr. was six weeks old I returned.

“Eric was distant at best and I told him I wanted a divorce. He was devastated. He told me he knew things weren't good between us, but he was willing to do whatever he needed to do to make me happy. I tried to explain to him that it was me and not him.”