The Cheating Curve (6 page)

“Not really. You’re not factoring in the nine months of pregnancy. I want the baby born no later than your thirty-fifth birthday. I don’t want to just be getting started at thirty-five.”

Lang slid off her husband and back into her shorts. “Wow. I guess I had a different understanding of our timeline.”

“Look, Lang, I don’t want to wait anymore. You asked me to wait for you to pitch and sell this magazine idea that you had, and I did that. What is it we’re waiting for exactly?”

“I dunno, the right time, I guess.”

“But what makes thirty-five a better time for you than thirty-three?”

Lang had to carefully consider her answer because she wasn’t really sure. One thing she was certain of, though, was that she definitely didn’t want to still be messing around with Dante if and when she was finally ready to get pregnant. That was a bit too foul, even for Lang. But she couldn’t plan on ending something that hadn’t even begun. And now surely wasn’t the time to confess to her husband that she was actually reconsidering having children, period.

“Baby, I want to start our family, I really do,” Lang said hesitantly, concerned more about appeasing him than admitting the truth. “And you’re absolutely right. There really isn’t a reason to wait, except I have to know in my heart that I’m ready to be a mother.”

“What exactly are you saying, Lang?” Sean asked.

“I’m saying we have to time this pregnancy right. I need to get proactive in naming an executive editor and grooming that person to take my spot so I can take at least a six-week maternity leave.”

“Okay, now you’re speaking my language,” Sean said, reaching inside her shorts.

“Babe, I gotta get ready for my appointment,” Lang said, sliding away from her husband’s reach. “We don’t have time for round two right now, but there’s always tonight.”

“Keep talking. I like what I’m hearing,” Sean said, smiling.

“Oh, really? You think we can take the sequel to the bedroom the next time?”

Sean laughed, grabbing his basketball shorts off the floor, sliding off his wife beater, and heading toward the bathroom in all his naked splendor, leaving Lang alone in the “black love” room to smooth out her cushions and fluff up her pillows again.

S
ean dropped Lang off at a Starbucks within walking distance of the salon. Her appointment with Guadalupe wasn’t until three, so she ordered an unsweetened Venti iced coffee with light ice and heavy cream and then leisurely strolled toward Excellent and Innovative a few blocks away. As she passed a popular seafood restaurant with outdoor seating, she spotted a diamond-white Escalade.

Okay, he doesn’t have the only iridescent white Cadillac SUV in New York City,
Lang thought, kneading away her brewing anxiety. The mental massage lasted only seconds though. Her black lace thong still hung from his rearview mirror.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered.
Okay, this could be just a coincidence
, she thought. But Lang knew better—she’d also seen his vanity plates,
UNVME
.
Shit, shit, shit, I wonder where he is
.

Lang glanced around, looking out for both Sean and Dante. Did Sean say he was going to watch a game on West Third Street or play in a game at Chelsea Piers? Either way, neither was far enough for her to feel even remotely comfortable right now. As she crossed the street, instinct told her to glance back again. This time she spotted Dante. But he wasn’t alone. He was with another woman, and they were both laughing as they sat at one of the Blue Water Grill’s outdoor tables. Lang couldn’t stop watching as the woman reached over and touched Dante’s hand.

“Well, don’t they look all cozy and happy,” Lang said out loud, flipping open her tiny Motorola. “I should call Aminah right now and tell her what this motherfucker has the nerve to be doing.” She paused. “Aw, damn. She’s the last person who’d want to hear about this. Damn. Damn. Damn.”

She called Dante instead. Lang stood across the street with her arms folded and blatantly stared at the laughing couple from behind her gold-studded Dolce&Gabbana frames.

“Whassup?” he asked, answering the phone in a rather short manner. Lang sensed she was interrupting something.

“Oh. Hey, you sound busy.” Lang mustered up all the casualness in her tone that she could fake.

“Actually, I am. Can I call you back later?”

“Yeah, sure, sure….” She paused.

“You all right?” Dante asked, knowing she wasn’t.

“Yes, of course, of course, can I ask you something though?”

“Yeah, but make it quick.”

“Are you with somebody right now?”

“Yeah,” he admitted casually.

“Are you on a date?” Lang asked with more than a little attitude.

“What’s with all the questions?” he asked, more amused than annoyed.

Lang sighed. “Fine, Dante, fine.”

“You’re so full of shit, Lang,” Dante said, chuckling.

“How you figure?” she asked.

“You’re callin’ me, frontin’ like everything’s lovely, when really you’re pissed to hear that I’m not available and at your service. You’re heated that I’m with someone else. Admit it.”

“What-the-fuck-ever, Dante.”

“I know you didn’t think you were the only woman—I mean, chick—I was dealing with,” he said, correcting himself. “My bad, I used to think I was dealing with a grown-ass woman, but now you got me wondering. Listen, Lang, I’ma talk to you later.”

“How are you going to say all that to me and then get off the phone?” Lang asked, perturbed. “What’s your rush, Dante?”

“Oh, so you wanna play games?” Dante asked, chuckling. “That’s cool. Because like I said, I am with someone right now, and I don’t want to be rude.”

“So it is a date then?” Lang asked, hoping that maybe he was just showing his cute cousin from out of town around New York or something.

“You know what? I’m not exactly sure. If you wanna know so badly, hold up and lemme me ask my friend.”

Dante asked the nice-looking young lady sitting across from him if they were on a date.

“My friend says yes.”

“I don’t believe you, Dante,” Lang said.

“You don’t?” Dante responded, deliberately misunderstanding and handing his phone to his date. “Lisa, do me a favor and say hi to my friend Lang.”

“Hi, Lang,” Lisa purred into the phone.

“Put Dante back on the phone!” Lang barked.

“I don’t think she wants to talk me,” Lang could hear Lisa say as she handed Dante back his phone.

“Hello.”

“Fuck you, Dante,” Lang said, snapping the phone shut, turning on her heels, and rushing toward the salon.

“Soon, baby, soon,” Dante said, smiling and watching Lang power walk down the street.

L
ang arrived for her appointment at Excellent and Innovative about seventeen minutes late, aggravated but by no means surprised that the salon was packed. There was no way she could start the workweek off with stray brow hairs. Not to mention she had
The Fabulous Life of Beyoncé
to shoot for VH1 on Monday.

Guadalupe, her favorite Columbian aesthetician, waxed and tweezed her brows into the cleanest natural arch without fail, and she’d been doing so for the past ten years, back when the salon was over on Madison and Thirty-Third.

“Okay, Langston, dear, come on back,” Guadalupe said a torturous hour and a half later. She’d skimmed through the July and August issues of
Essence
and studied the latest issues of
Sister 2 Sister
,
Us Weekly,
and
In Touch
, her direct and indirect competition. “So sorry for the delay, my dear.”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” Lang said. “I got held up in Union Square and lost complete track of time.”

“Are we doing your upper lip, too, dear?” Guadalupe asked.

“If it needs to be done, sure, why not.”

As Guadalupe spread the hot wax between her brows, it reminded Lang that she needed to schedule a Brazilian with Babbi at Bliss Soho. Babbi’d been out on maternity leave, and Lang simply did not trust anyone else to shape up her lust nest. Other salons and spas had left her completely bald and, quite frankly, humiliated. Other aestheticians at Bliss didn’t quite understand exactly how much hair she wanted to leave on her mound.

Lang required what she called a Brazilian Basic Bikini Combo, and Babbi understood her vagina vision like no one else. No hairs between her butt cheeks or her perineum, none between or on her outer labia either, but please do leave just enough hair for a nice, even, medium-width (not too thick, not too thin), not-quite-a-bush, upside-down pyramid (not a landing strip, nor Hitler’s mustache)—a nice, full, inverted triangle that came to a precise point right above her clit. She’d call them on Monday and see if Babbi was back. Otherwise she’d be rocking a fuzzy-wuzzy for a few more days.

“Is there anyway you can squeeze me in for a quick manicure or a polish change?” Lang asked as Guadalupe placed the astringent-soaked cotton pads on her eyebrows and above her upper lip to minimize any redness or swelling.

“Sure, dear, but not for another hour or so.”

While waiting in the salon, Lang called Sean to see if he was still in the city, but he was just crossing the Manhattan Bridge at that very moment.

“Aw, babe, I wish you’d called me ten minutes earlier,” he said, disappointed. “You want me to swing back and get you?”

“No, don’t do that, babe. It’s not a problem, really. I’m still waiting to get my nails done.”

“What? You’re still there?” Sean asked, surprised. “Damn, baby, I thought your appointment was only gonna take fifteen, twenty minutes, tops. It’s going on five thirty, and you’re still waiting? Maybe you should look for a new salon if E&I runs that far behind schedule.”

“No, babe, it’s not even their fault. I got here late.”

“How’d you do that?” he asked, a little confused. “When I dropped you off you had, like, a whole hour to spare.”

“Yeah, I know, babe, but I was so into this
American Legacy
article that I was reading at Starbucks that I lost complete track of time,” she lied.

“Really?” Sean asked, more surprised than suspicious. “That’s not like you at all. You put the capital
P
in punctuality. Must have been a damn good article.”

“Yeah, it was. Oh, she’s ready to do my nails now. I gotta go,” she lied again.

Lang waited another forty-five minutes for Guadalupe. It was after seven
PM
when she finally got out of there. A simple eyebrow appointment that should have ended no later than 3:20 became a marathon day of sit-and-wait, thanks to Dante Lawrence. Lang thought about calling her lover before she went home to her husband, but Sean had just called minutes ago to let her know that he was cooking one of her favorite meals—grilled salmon marinated in bourbon on a bed of steamed spinach, drizzled in his special-made honey-sesame soy sauce. And for dessert, spoon-fed fresh strawberries drenched in whipped cream. Yeah, she needed to go straight home. But damnit, it was still annoying her that Dante hadn’t called her back.

“Hey, Dante, it’s me,” Lang said, leaving him a message. “Look. I just wanted to apologize for spazzing on you earlier. I know it’s the weekend, and weekends are suppose to be off-limits for us, but I figured since you broke that rule last Sunday that I could do the same today.” She paused. “Anyway, I look forward to seeing you this week. Um, enjoy—” His voice mail interrupted with an abrupt, robotic “good-bye” before she could even finish her lengthy message.

Lang stood on the corner trying to hail a cab back to Brooklyn. It was times like these that she regretted letting Sean convince her that they needed only one car. He thought their BMW 745Ci was indulgent enough already. He reasoned that between her company’s car-service account and all the yellow taxis at her disposal, each of which was either tax deductible or work-expense-able, there really was no need to incur yet another liability. Not to mention that the good, old-fashioned subway was often the quickest way between Brooklyn and Manhattan, particularly during rush hour.

For Sean, every single purchase broke down to either an asset or a liability. The Rogers family were by no means hurting for money, and Sean wanted to keep it that way. Plus, the upkeep of their hundred-year-old brownstone was expensive and ongoing, even after all the renovations they’d already had done.

Sean had always lived beneath his means but ultimately had given up on trying to get Lang to do the same. He’d settle for her living within her means. But with Lang’s salary alone of $325,000 a year, what that exactly meant still wasn’t quite clear to her. At least she’d stopped hiding receipts from her husband. That had to count for something.

After waiting on the corner for more than ten minutes, she finally called for car service. Her cell phone vibrated as she climbed into the backseat of the black Lincoln Navigator.

“Yes?” she answered abruptly. “Take the Manhattan Bridge,” she told the driver.

“You with your husband?” Dante asked.

“No, are you with Lisa?” she replied with two parts cynicism and one part curiosity.

Dante laughed. “No, she left over an hour ago.”

Lang said nothing.

“Hello? Lang, you still there?”

“Yeah. I’m here,” she replied dryly.

“Come see me,” he said, more commanding than pleading.

“Oh, so
now
you wanna see me?” Lang asked sarcastically. “Well, I can’t. My husband’s waiting for me.”

“Just for a minute,” Dante said, more pleading than commanding. “Stop by real quick.”

Lang saw no sense in frontin’. She hadn’t stopped thinking about Dante since she’d spied on him earlier.

“Change of plans,” Lang informed the driver. “Take the Brooklyn Bridge instead.”

Lang met up with Dante at his loft in DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass). Though she’d been to Dante’s place several times since they’d met, it was still risky. While none of her people, nor Sean’s for that matter, frequented that area too often, it was still Brooklyn. And Brooklyn was always in the house—and on the streets.

“Listen, I can’t stay long,” Lang said, removing her gold-heeled jeweled thongs as she walked out of the private elevator that opened directly into his loft. Dionne Farris’s “Hopeless” off the
Love Jones
soundtrack was playing.

“What was that earlier?” he said, giving her a full-bodied hug, letting his hand linger on her rear end.

“I think that was a little thing called jealousy,” Lang said, resting her head on his chest and inhaling the Versace Black Jeans cologne he usually wore. It was one of the sexiest scents she’d ever smelled on a man. She loved it so much she’d bought herself a bottle and sprayed it on her panties from time to time.

“You have a lot of nerve, you know that, right?” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, breaking away from his embrace and walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window, momentarily captivated by the spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline. “Because I’m married I have no right to feel like that or act like that, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, I know.”

“No, Langston Neale,” he said, walking behind her, hugging her around her waist and kissing her softly on her neck. “I wasn’t going to say anything like that. You’re entitled to feel the way you feel. I mean I started fucking around with you knowing you were married. I have no right to judge you. But what I started to say was that you had a lot of nerve because I saw you standing across the street from the restaurant lookin’ crazy, sexy, and pissed.”

“You what?” she said, turning around to face him. Lang was genuinely taken aback.

“You heard me. I saw you, and I know you saw me. And I’m not gonna front,” he said, wagging his index finger at her nose as if he were scolding a cute puppy. “I was disappointed in you. You handled yourself like one of these young girls out here. I mean, you showed me some real birdlike tendencies.”

“What?” Lang responded, more than a bit perturbed, not appreciating being likened to a tacky ’round-the-way girl always running off at the mouth, always “clucking” so to speak—hence the fowl implication.

“Cursing a brother out. Hanging up the phone. I dunno. I guess I expected more from you.”

“What was I supposed to say, Dante?” Lang asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“Let’s just say you would have earned more cool points with me if you had just said something to the effect of, ‘Listen, D, I know I have a lot of nerve calling you with this bullshit, but I’m standing across the street watching you have lunch with the next chick, and I’m actually feeling a little way about that,’” Dante said, doing his best Langston Neale Rogers imitation. She laughed. “‘And I’ll admit, I have no idea who she is or what she is to you, but it’s bothering me.’ I would’ve expected something more like that from you. I’m supposed to be the younger one in this relationship. Remember?”

“Oh, so we’re in a relationship now?” Lang asked, smiling.

“We’re relating,” Dante responded, smiling back.

“Oh, yeah, and what difference would it have made if I’d said all that?”

“Well, for one, I’d have an even higher regard for you, thinking, ‘Now, that’s how a grown-ass woman in control of her emotions deals with an uncomfortable situation,’” he said, moving her hands from her hips and wrapping them around his waist. “Then I would have excused myself from Lisa and let her know that I had to go to speak to someone real important to me and that I’d be back shortly. I would’ve walked across the street, given you the biggest hug and the sweetest kiss and whispered in your ear that you had absolutely nothing to worry about. Oh, and that I found your li’l jealousy thing to be kinda sexy.”

“I would not have let you do that. No PDA, remember?” Lang reminded.

“Then I guess I would have lifted up your face up like this,” he said, raising her chin. “Then kissed you here.” He pressed his lips firmly against her forehead and held it there for a minute. She inhaled his cologne again and slipped out of consciousness for just a few seconds.

Lang sighed. “We’re indoors—private displays of affection are allowed. You can kiss me on my lips now.”

He lifted her chin again, brought his lips within an inch of hers, closed his eyes, and smiled. Lang stood there with her eyes closed for a full five seconds before she realized he wasn’t going to kiss her.

She playfully punched him and pushed him away. “I think you get off on making me wait.”

“I do,” he admitted, still grinning and then pulling her back into his embrace.

She moved to kiss him on the lips, but he turned his face. She pulled away. He pulled her back into him and sucked on her bottom lip. He gently caressed the top of her lip with his tongue and then finally kissed all of her mouth fully, softly. She moaned. She melted.

She’d underestimated his kissing skills, thinking like a lot of exceptionally good-looking men that he’d be a lazy kisser. She’d melted the very first time this twenty-three-year-old-something-of-a-man-child had kissed her and every single time since. Everything—every muscle, every fiber and tissue—between her legs was fully engorged. The longer he kissed her, the more intense the sensation stirred, the faster her fluids churned, and the warmer the heat between her legs pulsed until her sugar walls came crashing down in a long, rhythmic explosion. A simple kiss—no, a complicated kiss, a very layered kiss—caused her knees to buckle and her sex muscle to throb involuntarily and uncontrollably. Her bottom lip quivered. He lifted up her tank top and then raised her bra and tongue kissed both her breasts.

“I want you, Dante,” Lang whined.

“Soon,” he replied, still tonguing her erect, sweet brown nipples.

“I’m ready to feel you inside me. I want you so badly,” she breathed.

“I know,” he said, cupping both of her full breasts in his hands.

“This can’t go on forever,” she moaned.

“I know that, too,” he said, stepping back from her, leaving her tank top raised and admiring her fully exposed breasts. “I’m familiar with that little corny saying about all good things coming to an end.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet. Let’s make that happen tonight, D,” she said, stepping toward him and placing her hand on his crotch.

“Nah, not tonight, baby,” he said, moving her hand away and pulling her shirt back down.

“Ugh. You’re killing me, Dante!” Lang screamed.

“You can take it.”

“No, I can’t. I want you.”

“You can have me.”

“No, I want you now,” she whined again.

He shook his head.

“I’ve never had to wait for dick before.”

“I know,” he said, smiling.

“What? What? What is it? You want me to beg for it?” she asked, clearly frustrated.

He nodded and smiled.

“Fuck that, Dante,” Lang said, readjusting her underwire bra and top.