Too Little, Too Late (13 page)

“And I need a good friend right now.”

She took Alexis’s hand. “Don’t worry, Jefferson and I will be with you and Brian all the way.”

“I know, but I’m talking about
right now.
” She pointed to the chair spilling over with packages. “I need help getting all of this to my car.”

“You’re going to keep this?” Kyla eyed the shopping bags. “You shopped under duress. You should take some of this stuff back.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m going to do what you said. I’m going to go with Brian and talk to Cinderella. But something tells me that I’m going to need this stuff over the next few days just to make it through.”

Alexis stuffed the last bag into the trunk, then hugged Kyla.

“You’re going home?” Kyla asked.

“Yeah, my business will have to run itself today.” Alexis slipped into her car and waved to her friend. She twisted the car onto the street and then checked her phone. As she scrolled through the incoming calls, she frowned. Not one from Brian. With what he’d taken her through this morning, he should have had the decency to be blowing up her phone. Then she would have had the pleasure of ignoring him.

She glanced at the clock. Barely two; he would be in his office—unless he was out doing his sex addict thing.

She pressed the speed-dial number, then held her breath. He answered on the first ring.

“Sweetheart, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ve been so worried. I wanted to call, but wanted to give you space.”

“That was a good idea.”

“We have to talk.”

“That’s why I’m calling.” Another deep breath. “Go ahead and make an appointment with your doctor…your therapist. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

She heard his relief. “Thank you, sweetheart. I—”

“Don’t thank me for anything, Brian. All I’m doing is going with you to the doctor. I’m not committing to anything else.”

“Okay.” He stopped, let time pass as if he knew his next words might be the most important ones he’d ever say. “Alexis, I love you.”

He waited as if he expected a response. When she didn’t say anything, he said, “Are you at work?”

“No.”

Again he waited. Nothing. Then, he said, “I want to see you. Let’s meet at Heroes.”

Alexis sucked her teeth. Like going to her favorite restaurant was going to fix anything.

He said, “I can meet you there now.”

“Ain’t gonna happen. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. At the doctor’s office. I’ll be there at nine.”

“Where—”

She clicked off the phone, not needing to hear anymore, and pressed the power button. This time, she was sure that Brian would call back, wanting to know where she was, where she was going. She had no idea. Only knew that she wasn’t going home. She needed to go someplace where she could breathe.

She eased onto the 405 Freeway and then pushed a button on the dashboard. The whirring began and then sunlight peeked above her until the car’s top was tucked inside its compartment.

June’s heat filled the car, but the coastal gusts kept her cool. She never rode with the top down during the week, hated the havoc the wind caused on her hair. But today was no ordinary Tuesday.

For weeks, she’d thought Brian had been having an affair; now she wished that had been the truth. This idea that her husband loved sex the way she loved coffee was too difficult to grasp. And then, she wondered if he had sex as often as she drank coffee.

She shook that thought away, turned on the radio. Missy Elliott and a few of the other ladies of hip-hop blasted through the car, talkin’ ’bout get your freak on.

Sex addict.

She pressed the button for another station.

Beyoncé sang, “To the left, to the left. Everything you own in a box to the left.”

Sex addict.

She turned the volume up and sang along, “You must not know ’bout me, you must not know ’bout me.”

She pressed the accelerator and took the speedometer way past the speed limit.

H
ER PLAN HAD BEEN TO DRIVE
as far as a tank of gas would take her. But after only a few miles, emotional exhaustion set in and Alexis swerved off the freeway, stopping in front of the Fairmont Hotel.

Less than ten minutes later, the bellman led her to her room. “This is one of our best,” he said as they entered. He stacked her Neiman’s bags on the couch. “This is the Utopia suite.”

Alexis would have laughed if she could.

“Will there be anything else?”

“Coffee.”

“Right over there.” He pointed to the machine on the kitchen counter. “And there’s a Starbucks in the lobby.”

“Thank you.” She handed the bellman a tip, closed the door, then stood on the edge of the room as if she didn’t know what to do.

She carried the shopping bags into the bedroom, then wandered through the rest of the suite. But not even the warmth of the buttery-yellow walls and the midday sun that beamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows could thaw the chill that had been inside her bones since this morning.

On the balcony, she stood at the rail and marveled at the magnificence of Griffith Park seventeen floors below. She sank into the cushioned wicker chair and with her legs stretched out on the ottoman, she rested beneath the breeze. There she stayed, getting up only to quench her thirst with coffee, as the summer sky shifted to the evening. Even when the fading day brought the desert night’s chill, she didn’t move. She didn’t want to face the empty room that was waiting for her.

It was driving her crazy—the way she could think thoughts, but feel nothing. She wished she could rant with rage. Or even fall to the floor and wither in wife-done-wrong pain.

But she was numb. Just like when she was sixteen and her father came into her bedroom with the news that her mother had died. The doctors had said then that she was in emotional shock.

Maybe that’s what was happening now.

But while her emotions seemed dead, her thoughts weren’t. And the images continued. Of Brian, standing at the head of an assembly line—woman after woman marching by.
I’ll take that one,
he said.
And that one.
She wondered how many there had been.

And then she wondered if he’d had only one a day. Or if he’d had two. Or if he bedded one woman at a time. Or did he prefer ménage-a-trois?

That thought drove her from the balcony. She grabbed her PDA and with the calculator, added it up. Five years, 365 days. That would be almost two thousand women—if it was just one each day!

Her head throbbed as she stripped naked and climbed into the luxurious bed. But not even the thousand-thread-count sheets brought rest. She twisted through the slow passing of time and when sleep refused her request, she clicked on the television. But the late-night talk shows brought no relief from the thoughts that kept her awake. When she finally pushed herself from the bed, it was only 2:10.

Wearing the hotel’s bathrobe, she returned to the balcony. Still, she couldn’t feel, couldn’t cry, couldn’t rage.

Another hour passed, and she stepped back into the room. This time, she didn’t give the bed a chance to deny her. She settled on the sofa in the living room. And with the television tuned to BET late-night music videos, she closed her eyes and was granted sleep.

But then she dreamed. She was in a bedroom with Brian. She sat at a round table filled with an endless number of coffee mugs. He lay on the bed, naked and grinning. But not at her. He beamed for the women standing behind her—a line that extended for miles beyond that bedroom.

She picked up a cup. He picked up a lover.

She drank her coffee. He devoured his woman.

She did it again. So did he.

One by one.

Every time she grabbed a new cup, he snatched a new female.

She drank faster. He kept up with her.

She drank more. He did the same.

She was filled to the top with coffee. And then she exploded. Bolted up from the couch with a scream.

She drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs. Remembered her dream. And cried. And ached. And wished that Brian was dead.

Two thousand women?
She cried through the thoughts of how she’d shared her husband with so many and what kinds of diseases she might now carry.

Her cries continued until the morning sun rose. And with daylight came clarity.

After a shower, she spread the clothes she’d purchased yesterday across the bed, then chose the dress she’d wear to the place where she and Brian would spend their final hours together as husband and wife. She held up the sleeveless shift in front of her. It was appropriate. It was black.

As she dressed, she imagined what she would say. Brian would understand that she wanted a divorce, since he would never stay with her if she’d slept with two thousand men.

She shuddered.
How did he even have time to work?
But she shook that question away. It didn’t matter. That was his life now and had nothing to do with her. She had only one mission.

She’d make her announcement, Brian would agree. They would divorce. This would be short and simple. Quick and easy.

As she waited for the hotel elevator, she wished she’d made herself at least one cup of coffee to go, then decided to grab a cup in the lobby. But after standing in the line and placing her order, all she could think about was her dream.

She twirled the cup she held. Inhaled its fragrance. And then tossed the untouched drink into the trash.

“S
HE DIDN’T COME HOME
last night, Dr. Perkins.” Brian loosened his tie, paced the length of the office. “This is what I was afraid of.”

“Calm down. Alexis said she was coming.”

“I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “Wherever she stayed, she had all night to think and decide that she couldn’t stay married to me.”

“Brian.”

The calm in his doctor’s voice didn’t ease his anguish.

She said, “The fact that Alexis is willing to be here tells me that she wants to work through this. Believe me, I’ve worked with patients whose spouses didn’t want to hear any more after they heard the words ‘sex addict.’”

He stopped moving. “So you think our marriage can be saved?”

“Yes.” The doctor leaned forward on her desk. “Everything is working in your favor. Alexis is coming to this meeting. That’s her part. You’ve been doing your part by committing to working through this. Together, you and Alexis have the best of chances.”

He sank into the chair, lowered his head. It was difficult to believe her words.

“Let me ask you this,” Dr. Perkins said. “If you had cancer, would Alexis leave you?”

His head and his spirits rose. That was a good question. Maybe Alexis could see it that way. That would be his prayer. He’d add it to the prayers he’d been saying all night. Prayers that started from the moment he entered their condominium and wandered through the empty space, until he rested alone in their bed.

He had prayed to God to first keep his wife safe. And then to touch her heart so that she would understand. And forgive him. And stay.

“There is something you should know, though, Brian,” the doctor broke through his thoughts, “just like if you had cancer, your wife deserves full disclosure. You’re going to have to be completely honest and answer any questions she may have.”

Brian frowned. “Suppose she wants to know how many women I’ve been with?”

The doctor looked straight into his eyes. “Tell her. I’m going to get Alexis to focus on what’s important, but anything she wants to know, even names or occasions, tell her the truth.”

He nodded, as if he agreed, but he didn’t. Truth wasn’t something he practiced, and he didn’t think this was the best of times to begin. Too many questions from Alexis could lead to Jasmine. And he had a feeling that his wife would rather hear that he’d slept with five hundred women than hear Jasmine’s name.

He shook his head. His marriage
might
survive five hundred women, but it would
never
survive one Jasmine.

Every time he thought of Jasmine, he stopped breathing. Just like he had on that New Year’s Day, a year and a half ago. The last time he saw Jasmine with her husband in her club, Rio. He had flown to New York just to get with her. But she hadn’t been happy to see him. She had faced him with eyes filled with fear. And then he’d noticed her swollen belly and their glances locked again. This time, there was fear in his own eyes. In his gut, he knew the child she carried was his.

It must have been her shock that made her faint. Right there—she’d fallen into his arms. Her husband had grabbed her from his grasp and yelled for someone to call 9-1-1. In the bedlam that followed, Brian had stayed until the ambulance arrived. Then he made his own getaway. He’d headed straight to the airport, not even taking time to stop at the hotel. Just called the front desk of the Plaza and arranged to have his clothes packed and shipped.

His heart was still pounding when he had settled into his first-class seat. He didn’t notice the woman who sat next to him. But she’d started the conversation.

“Are you leaving or returning home?”

“Going home.” He’d barely looked at her. All he could see, think, was Jasmine and her bulging belly.

After two hours and two drinks, Brian was more amenable. He introduced himself to the lady with the big white hair.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Perkins.”

“Ah, a doctor. So am I.”

He told her he was an ophthalmologist. She told him she was a sex therapist.

He laughed.

She shrugged and said, “That’s the normal reaction, but I can assure you, I help people just like you do. You help your clients to see better; I help my clients to live better. I counsel them through their sexual addictions.”

His laughter stopped. “I’ve heard people claim they’re addicted to sex, but come on, Doctor, is that real?”

“It’s as real as the abnormalities you treat. It’s just that while most of your clients know they have a problem, most of mine don’t, not until their lives get so out of control.”

Her words made him shift in his seat. He motioned to the flight attendant for one more drink and didn’t share another word with the doctor. Not until they landed.

Reaching toward him, Dr. Perkins said, “I believe in networking. Take my card.”

He frowned.

She continued, “Not for you. But you may know someone who knows someone who knows someone who can use my services.”

He’d tucked the card inside his wallet, planning to toss it into the trash later.

But that night after Alexis had fallen asleep in his arms, he’d rolled from the bed and pulled out the business card. Stared at it. Thought of Jasmine. Remembered the others.

Curiosity made him tiptoe into their home office and in the dark, search the Internet. The answers came quick—
The symptoms of a sex addict: risk taker, living a double life, willing to endanger professional and personal life…
the list went on. But it was the signs that one doctor spoke of—the secret life, the shamefulness, the depression and despair—that had his name written all over it.

Thirty minutes later, he slipped back between the sheets. And resting next to his wife, he made his decision to see Dr. Perkins in the morning.

The ringing door bell pulled him from the past.

“That must be Alexis,” Dr. Perkins said, rising.

Brian nodded as the doctor moved toward the front. In just seconds, Alexis would be sitting next to him. Hearing the stories of his secret life. He closed his eyes, told himself to breathe. And said his prayers all over again.