The Cheating Curve (20 page)

They both stood motionless for a few seconds.

Fame moved first.

He scooped Aminah up, cradling her head with one arm and wrapping the other tightly around her waist while burying his head into the crook of her neck. He shut his eyes and inhaled her scent. She caressed the back of his neck.

He wept.

They stood there holding each other for only a minute or two, though it felt more like an hour.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Fame said, touching her new hairstyle. “You look breathtaking.”

“You like it?” Aminah asked, wiping his face.

“I love it, Minah. You look beautiful, baby.”

He finally released her. He scanned the foyer, walked along the edge of the living and dining room, and then opened the front door. “Where are your bags, baby?” Fame asked, concerned. “You’re here to stay, right, Aminah?”

Aminah cleared her throat.

“Let’s sit down,” Aminah said, leading him into their living room. “We need to talk.”

“Please, Minah, baby. I can’t take it. As God is my witness, my heart can’t take it.”

“Wait a minute, Fame. Hear me out.”

Fame sighed heavily and dropped his head in disbelief, shaking it from side to side.

“Look at me, Fame.”

Fame kept his head low.

“I can’t talk to you if don’t look at me.”

Fame shook his head again. He was emotionally spent. “Minah, baby, I think I’ve finally reached my breaking point.” Fame’s voice cracked. “I’m not sure I can take what you have to say, Minah. I’ve been really goin’ through it. I can’t. I’m tellin’ you. I can’t.”

“You think I haven’t been going through it, too, Fame?”

He finally looked up at his wife. As difficult as it was to look at her and not cry again, he swallowed a couple times, forcing back the tears. And as hard as it was not to physically drag her up the stairs and permanently lock her in their bedroom, he restrained himself.

“I can no longer be in a relationship, in a marriage, where I am blatantly disrespected and my feelings are disregarded,” Aminah said, looking at her husband squarely. “I can no longer excuse and ignore unacceptable behavior from my spouse and my partner in life. I never, ever wanted…” She paused to keep her own emotions in check. “Never imagined raising my children without their father in the home. But…”

“Aminah. Baby, please don’t…”

“No, Fame, I can’t, and I won’t. I am not the same woman, Fame. I am not the same wife. Hell, I’m not even the same mother. No one’s needs, not yours, not even Alia’s and Amir’s, are coming before my own. And quite frankly, I don’t know if you’ll like the me I’m becoming, and so—”

“I’ll like her,” Fame interrupted, grabbing Aminah’s face and kissing her. “I’ll love her, I’ll adore her, just don’t leave me again, baby, please—”

“No, Fame, listen to me,” Aminah said, taking his hands off her face and holding them in her own. “I am not staying—”

“Please don’t leave me, Minah,” Fame begged, getting down on his knees in front of her. “Please, baby.”

He laid his head in her lap and wept again.

Aminah rubbed the back of his head. She blinked back tears.

“I am not staying in a marriage with a cheating husband. I deserve better.”

She lifted his head off her lap.

“I can get better, Fame,” she stated, staring him directly into his eyes. “Are you still a cheating husband, Aaron ‘Famous’ Anderson?”

Fame kissed Aminah softly on her lips.

“I love you, Minah,” he said, grabbing her face. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, and I want you to know that, to really know that, to feel that.”

Aminah looked away, but Fame turned her head to face him again. He held her chin.

“I hate myself for jeopardizing what I value most. You. Us. Our family. I hate that I’m responsible for you not feeling completely secure in our marriage. But as God is my witness, Minah, I promise, if you give me another chance, I’ll make it up to you. Please forgive me, baby.”

She looked away again. He turned her toward him again.

“And, no, I’m not
still
a cheating husband. I’m your dedicated husband committed to making you unbelievably happy. Come back to me, Aminah. Please, baby, please come back to me.”

A tear slid down her cheek. He kissed it away. He kissed her neck, her chin, and then her forehead.

“I came home to stay,” Aminah finally said.

Fame lifted Aminah off the couch and spun her around. Aminah giggled and screamed, pleading with Fame to put her down. He finally did and asked Aminah where all her bags were if she’d planned on staying all along.

“In the Range, babe,” she said, smiling. “I just needed you to carry them in.”

Alia and Amir woke up twenty minutes later, pleasantly yet awkwardly surprised to find their mother smoothing down the front of her red dress and their father straightening out the waistband of his sweatpants in front of the Christmas tree.

“Mommy’s home!” Amir yelled, running into her arms. “Told you, Daddy.”

“You sure did, ’Mir.”

“Mommy!” Alia yelled, joining in for a group hug.

Fame broke out the DVD camcorder to film Aminah and the children opening up all their presents. Aminah told Fame she’d gotten him something months ago but changed her mind about giving it to him. He didn’t care. Her return home had been the only gift he’d desired and prayed for.

After making breakfast for the family, Fame told Alia and Amir to keep themselves occupied for the next hour or two with their new iPods, video games, clothes, and books while he made up for some lost time with their mother.

Fame swept Aminah up in his arms and carried her up to their bedroom. She playfully squirmed in a weak protest. He’d wanted her to hear this classic Angela Bofill song he’d fallen asleep to practically every night since she’d left him.

Fame gently placed his wife down on their twelve-foot-wide, ten-foot-long, pillow-topped bed and then cued up “This Time I’ll Be Sweeter.” He sang softly in Aminah’s ear while the late, great Ms. Bofill sang sweetly above from the ceiling speakers.

Fame lifted Aminah’s dress above her head.

Darling, can’t you see what losing you has done to me.

He slid off her bra and panties.

He pulled her up to stand naked in front of him as he blindfolded her with her satin belt and then lightly fingered her from the top of her scalp to the tips of her toes.

He slowly ran his warm tongue from the back of her knees to the nape of her neck.

Aminah removed her blindfold and then her husband’s clothes.

I won’t mess around. I won’t let you down.

They made love, slowly and tenderly. It took all of Fame’s stamina and willpower not to come inside his wife as soon as he entered her. He hadn’t gone that long without sex since he’d started having it, not counting the quickie they’d just had right before their children had awakened.

Aminah’s body convulsed. She relaxed her thighs’ tight grip from around Fame’s waist as he moaned in satisfaction, finally releasing himself inside his wife.

“I
gotta get him back, Aminah.”

“Really? And in whose best interest would that be? Yours or his?”

“Would you like the same color on your feet?” the manicurist asked Aminah before Lang answered her.

“Ours,” Lang stated with the resolution of a chubby chick on her first day at Jenny Craig.

The ladies were enjoying their first Sessions of the year at Pretty Inside. It’d been a little over a week since Aminah had left a broken-hearted Lang snoring at the Ritz. They’d spoken daily, and Aminah knew headstrong Lang would rebound quickly, just not this quickly. In fact, it was actually Lang who had insisted they keep their biweekly appointment at Pretty Inside when Aminah’d offered to cancel it.

“I don’t lose,” Lang continued. “I win. I’m a winner. You went back to Fame. I can go back to Sean. You took Fame back. Sean can take me back.”

Aminah shook her head in disbelief as Erika refilled their flutes with Lang’s favorite champagne. She was hosting her New Year’s pamper celebration for her favorite clients.

“It’s different, Lang,” Aminah said, admiring the cotton-candy color on her fingers and toes. She was feeling pink again. “Different situations. Different people. Besides, you should be focusing more on you, not him.”

“Yeah, right,” Lang responded, twisting her mouth in complete disagreement. “That’s exactly the kind of thinking that got me into this situation.”

Lang had awakened Christmas afternoon headache-free, mind clear. One night of torrential wailing was more than enough for her. Crying simply wasn’t her style.

She had listened to all the new messages on her cell phone before making her way to the bathroom. Most of the calls had been holiday wishes from friends and family, including Aminah and the Anderson clan. Four were from her mother—“Where are you?” “Please call me.” “I’m worried.” “Sean told me.” None were from him though.

Lang had reached toward the mirror above the bathroom sink and outlined her face, marveling a bit at the new shape and texture of her eyelids. She had favored a one-round Mike Tyson opponent circa 1988. She’d gently caressed her face with both hands the same sort of way models do in those facial cleanser commercials. She massaged her temples before carefully stroking her eyelids.

“This is not you, Langston Neale Rogers,” she said to her reflection. “I don’t know who this is staring back at me, but it’s not you.”

Lang applied warm compresses to her face, ordered the tea bags and cucumbers per Aminah’s instructions, and then called her mother to let her know she was staying at the Ritz and to reassure her that she was okay—not fine, but okay.

Mrs. Burgess had begged Lang to come home. “You don’t owe me an explanation, though I mean, of course, I’d like one.”

Lang didn’t want to be around family, hers or anyone else’s. And she especially didn’t want to talk about Sean and her marriage or lack thereof.

“You know your sister and the twins flew in from California,” Mrs. Burgess continued. “It’d be a shame if—”

“How long are they here?” Lang interrupted. She’d forgotten her big sis was in town.

“Their flight leaves early in the morning on the thirty-first. I think she and Keith are flying to Vegas for some New Year’s Eve party, and the kids are goin’—”

“Excellent,” Lang interrupted again. “So I’ll see them way before they leave. In fact, I’ll take the twins ice-skating in Rockefeller Center—no, Prospect Park, maybe—um, tomorrow. And I’ll get my hands on some front-row seats to
A Raisin in the Sun
for all of us. You’ll love Phylicia Rashad, Mom. Diddy’s actually pretty good, too. Sanaa Lathan’s impressive of course. We can all go. It’ll be my family gift.”

Her thoughts careened through her mind and tumbled out of her mouth with no sense of connection. Somehow she had to get them working together. Her head was making way too much noise. Running always helped. And Lang felt like running, but not inside some fancy hotel gym either. Outside. By the water. She some needed air, the cold, crisp kind.

“Langston, you don’t sound like yourself, honey. We’re worried about you. Is what Sean said true? Are you really getting a divorce?”

Lang didn’t answer right away.

“Langston.”

“God, I hope not, Mom,” Lang finally said as she slid on her sweats from the night before. She’d need to get the rest of her things. No, she’d send Aminah. At least she’d packed enough clothes to get her through the week.

“But what happened to make Sean—”

“I cheated on him, Mom,” Lang whispered. Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and laced up her sneakers.

Mrs. Burgess said nothing.

“And I got caught,” Lang continued. “And I lied about it. And I got caught in the lie. And I can’t face anyone today. Maybe tomorrow, but—”

“Come home, Langston,” Mrs. Burgess interrupted. “Stop punishing yourself and come home.”

Lang declined her mother’s offer. She spoke to her sister, Cullen, who understood her need to be alone. She wished her brother-in-law and the twins a Merry Christmas and promised to join them all tomorrow for Kwanzaa brunch.

Then Lang ran—what felt like for her life—through Battery Park. The cold mist from the water stung her face, but no more than the tears had the night before. She felt alive. Her cheeks tingled. Her chest hurt. No, it was her heart. Her lungs were on fire, but at least she was breathing. And her head had finally stopped making so much noise.

Lang enjoyed breakfast with her family out in Hempstead the following morning. No one brought up Sean except her niece and nephew. They adored their uncle Sean. She apologized for disappointing them and explained that while he wouldn’t be able to make it over to see them this visit, she’d make it up to them by taking them ice-skating.

Later Lang asked her mother and Cullen to join her in the kitchen to help with the dishes and to explain the breakup and the affair and the aftermath thus far.

Cullen rinsed the last dish, hugged her little sister, and told her everything would be okay. “You’re strong, Langston. I know this won’t break you, but, man, you really know how to mess up a good thing when you want to, don’t you?”

“I know,” Lang agreed, still holding on to her sister with wet rubber gloves. “But I’m hoping I can fix it somehow.”

Mrs. Burgess continued to dry and put away the dishes as she listened to her girls. She wasn’t quite ready to console Lang—saw no point in chastising her either. She was worried though, more for her daughter’s marriage than her daughter. She’d spoken to Sean. And had heard him so clearly. Her son-in-law had already checked out of their union. Her child was in denial if she thought she could get her husband back. He was already gone.

“I hope you can, too,” Cullen said, rubbing her sister’s back before releasing her embrace and grabbing the broom. “I don’t know how you went out like that. A man like Sean, a
brother
like Sean…I mean, he’s so attentive, so giving, so rare…. You get someone like that…” Cullen paused, shaking her head.

Lang bit her bottom lip, bracing herself for her sister’s admonishment. But Cullen wasn’t used to seeing her sister so emotionally exposed and wasn’t about to exploit her vulnerability.

Lang bent down with the dustpan, anticipating Cullen’s reproval.

“Here’s the thing, Langston. When you get what you had with Sean, you’re supposed to treasure that as the sacred gift it is,” Cullen said, stooping down to put her arm around her little sister. “You understand me?”

Lang nodded before dropping her head.

“Now, I know you get off on constant stimulation and finding that next thing to turn you on,” Cullen said, lifting her sister’s chin.

Lang rolled her eyes.

“You always have, Langston. But I gotta ask, was it worth the risk of losing your husband? I mean, you guys were talking children. What was your plan—to keep chasing the rush and the kids?”

Lang shrugged her shoulders and put away the dustpan. No one said a word, which was fine by Lang. Even if she had a plan per se, her sister, with her
Cosby Show
–type marriage, wouldn’t understand it. Stimulation was vital to Lang’s existence. Her plan had been simply not to get caught.

Lang pulled three coffee mugs out of the cabinet and then scanned her mother’s coffee-bean selection.

“Give Sean some time, some space,” Cullen finally said, sighing a bit and taking a seat on one of the stools in front of the kitchen island. “He may come around. Lord knows he adored the hell outta you.”

“Yeah, but I’m afraid if I give him too much space, he’ll get used to life without me in it,” Lang admitted, eyeing her quiet mother suspiciously before handing her Dean & DeLuca’s Ethiopian Yirgacheffe blend.

Gail Burgess was long on advice and full of opinions. Her silence wasn’t lost on either of her daughters.

“Get comfortable not having me around,” Lang continued as she took a seat next to her sister.

“Well, nothing beats a failure but a try,” Cullen said, repeating what their deceased father had used to say to them whenever his girls were discouraged. Mr. Burgess had died in a tragic car accident when Lang and Cullen were both teenagers.

Lang smiled and hugged her sister again. She felt hopeful.

“Men don’t forgive, Langston,” Mrs. Burgess finally said after filling the grinder with the coffee beans. “And on that rare occasion that they do, they never forget,” she added sadly.

While Gail Burgess pitied her daughter, she also felt a certain level of personal guilt. She had known her youngest wasn’t ready for marriage some four years ago and had told her so a few days after her engagement party.

She’d not only witnessed her newly engaged daughter flirting too intently with one of her church member’s married sons, but more importantly she understood the very essence of who and what her daughter was. And Langston Neale Rogers, just like Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes, was a free spirit. Nothing and no one held Lang’s attention too long. Never had.

Mrs. Burgess had envisioned her bright little girl traveling the world, accomplishing great things, bearing gifts from exotic places, but never really settling down. Langston and conformity had just never gotten along too well. Particularly after her father had died. According to Lang, life, no matter how long it was, was too short for it not to be a blast. And her mother not only respected that but also embraced it.
Free woman,
as the author Pearl Cleage deemed—Gail Burgess was one and had raised a pair of ’em.

However, Lang was also determined and defiant. And to everyone around her, including her mother, blissfully married. She insisted that Sean understood and even appreciated her flirtatious nature and in fact was secure enough not to feel threatened by it. She’d convinced her mother that her commitment to Sean was more compromise than conformity.

And Mrs. Burgess subscribed to it all. She frequently asked Lang if she should expect the great American novel or an adorable grandchild first, all the while ignoring that slight sense that something about her daughter’s marriage still wasn’t
quite right
.

“Oh, Langston,” Mrs. Burgess said, rubbing her youngest child’s shoulder before sitting on the stool right next to her. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for my girls.”

The Burgess women sipped on their coffee as their mother recounted the afternoon Sean had tearfully asked Lang’s hand in marriage. He’d openly professed his love for her daughter and vowed to take care of her mind, body, and soul. She’d prayed that it’d be enough to sustain her maverick of a daughter.

Lang promised herself she wouldn’t cry anymore, but reliving Sean’s proposal had been emotional for all three women. Cullen and Mrs. Burgess comforted Lang. And Lang allowed them. Mrs. Burgess even succeeded in convincing Langston to stay in her old room, once she checked out of the hotel, at least until she found a place of her own.

“I’m gonna walk Thurman,” Lang said, pulling out their Saint Bernard’s leash from one of the kitchen drawers. She needed air again. “Have the twins ready to go ice-skating by the time I get back.”

Lang had taken her family to see
A Raisin in the Sun
later that week and called her best friend to make sure they were still on for Pretty Inside’s Pamper Party. She’d refused to hibernate.

As they carefully slid their hands and feet under the nail driers, Lang and Aminah recapped their New Year’s Eve. Aminah had spent hers at home with her family like always while Lang confessed to having spent hers on her knees.

“Excuse you?” Aminah asked, spitting out her Veuve.

“Get your dirty mind out the gutter.” Lang laughed, mimicking a Salt-N-Pepa line. “I was on my knees praying in church seeking forgiveness, asking for clarity.”

Aminah laughed. “For a minute I thought you were gonna tell me you were servicing Dante or something.”

“Nah. I still think about him though. A lot.”

Aminah rolled her eyes.

“It’s just that we were more sexually compatible,” Lang said, remembering the last time she’d sexed Dante, grinning slightly and then shaking the memory away. “There’s this French classical author, François de la Rochefoucauld,” Lang explained as Erika inspected her nails, “who said something to the effect of when love becomes labored, we welcome an act of infidelity to free us from fidelity.”

Erika raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“And loving Sean got to be too much work for you?” Aminah asked as Erika carefully dragged her finger across Aminah’s shiny, dry pink nails, awaiting Lang’s response.

“I think so,” Lang said, shrugging her shoulders.

Erika nodded and released Aminah’s hand.

“I’ve tried calling him, you know. He won’t take my calls.”

“It’s too soon, Lang. He’s hurting. It’s still too raw.”

“I miss him. I know you speak to him. Does he ask about me?”

Aminah hated answering that question. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and then asked Richard to kindly pull her wallet out of her bag.

Lang released a long, heavy sigh. “‘Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned,’ or, in this case, a man.”