Married on Mondays (14 page)

Foxy frowned, looked at the phone, then asked, “Who is this?”

“Isis. Who’s calling?” she asked, then laughed. “Stop it, Winton.”

“Isis, put my husband on the phone.”

“Can you call him later? We’re busy.” She laughed again. “Go back to Dallas’s house,” she said, not waiting for an answer
before ending the call.

A lump lodged in Foxy’s throat.
What in the hell? Busy? Go back to Dallas’s.
That bitch had a lot of nerve. Foxy started to call back but changed her mind. Like with the red thong, she’d act like nothing
happened. Foxy gathered her clothes for the next workday, got back in her car, and returned to Dallas.

“That was fast. Come here. Get back in bed. I keep telling you this is where you ought to be,” he said, kissing her.

Foxy straddled Dallas. She sat on his dick and rolled her hips forward, up, back. She bounced deep in his pelvis, dug her
hips into him, then rolled forward again. She bucked, then rolled some more.

“Damn, you should get mad at him more often,” Dallas said, holding her hips.

She stroked her pussy, put her fingers in his mouth, then put the same fingers in her mouth. She pinched her nipples trying
hard to forget the sound of Isis’s voice resounding in her head, but she couldn’t.
Can you call him later? We’re busy. We’re busy. Can you call him later?
Foxy tried hard to cum all over Dallas’s dick. The emotional blockage suppressed her orgasm.

“Damn you! Selfish bastard!” she screamed.

“Stop it, Foxy. He’s not worthy of you. Lay down,” Dallas said. “Let’s talk.”

Tears filled with anger streamed down her cheeks. “Winton’s bitch answered his cell phone.”

Dallas sat up. Massaged, then kissed her foot. “I can’t make you divorce him, but you knew he had another woman. What, you
needed confirmation? You think he’s been seeing her longer than we’ve been together?”

Foxy hadn’t thought about that. What if Isis was a woman Winton was supposed to marry but didn’t? Softly she said, “I don’t
know what I need.”

“Yes, you do. Men don’t get rid of their exes,” he said. “At least not the good ones.”

“How many good ones do you have?” Foxy asked. Were all of Dallas’s business trips business or pleasure?

“You know how I feel about my girls. Getting their mothers pregnant were my mistakes. But my daughters are no mistake. Would
I have preferred to have kids with you? You know I would have. Still do. A number of women can complement my life. But Foxy
you complete me. I’m patiently waiting for the day when I can complete you.”

Maybe she completed him. Perhaps she was convenient. Who in the hell was Isis?

Dallas took her in his arms, pressed his lips to her forehead. “Have no doubt that I love you.”

Men could love, be in love, make love, and still fuck other women. Her mind drifted, wondering what her husband was doing
to Isis.

“Turn around.” Foxy wrapped her arm atop his waist. Pressed the front of her breasts against his back. She was tired of thinking.
In four hours she’d make love to Dallas properly, shower, and go to work. From now on, Isis could suck Winton’s dick morning,
noon, and night. If the roles were reversed and someone was fucking her husband, Isis would trip. Isis was probably another
lonely woman so desperate she’d give all she had to get what another woman has got on lock.

Desperate trick!

T
hank God for Fridays.

Five o’clock, DéJà arrived at work. Victoria was sitting at her desk in the office with the lights off. They sat in silence
facing one another. DéJà held Victoria’s hand. DéJà preferred her sisters to listen to her rather than be sympathetic and
stuff. Dominatrices were not the caring kind, but her father taught the girls to stick together. DéJà couldn’t treat her sister
like she treated her clients, but she wanted to beat sense into Foxy and Victoria.

Moving her hand, Victoria said, “He didn’t take my virginity. He tried but it didn’t happen. I have to find a way to make
Rain stop calling me. Naomi isn’t so understanding right now. That’s why I’m here early. I couldn’t sleep.” Victoria started
sniffling.

“Don’t think I feel sorry for you. I told you a long time ago to stop fucking his retarded ass, but no, you want to point
fingers at Foxy and Dallas when Rain is the crazy one. There is something wrong with a man that believes everybody owes him
something. His mama disowned him. His daddy hated him. The kids at school picked on him. Victoria won’t give him any pussy.
Give me a break, sis, and admit that retarded-ass dick has got you going dumb. You have no one to blame but yourself. You’re
my sister. I love you. You could’ve come by my house. You didn’t have to go to his house or come here,” DéJà said.

Victoria stopped sniffling. Shook her head. “This was yesterday. I didn’t go to his house this morning.”

“Before or after the flat tire? You brought this on yourself,” DéJà said.

“It’s your fault that I’m here. Why did you call my wife at work looking for me? I am your sister. Your blood. You should’ve
called me, not Naomi.”

When was Victoria going to grow up and accept responsibility for her shit? “My fault? I did call you. You didn’t answer. What
was I supposed to do? Nothing?” Was Victoria for real? DéJà wondered if both of her sisters were suffering from acute anxiety.

Victoria said, “Just admit that you’re jealous of me and Foxy. You’ve always been jealous of us ever since we were kids. All
you’ve done was try to boss us around.”

Foxy turned on the light. “Forget jealousy.” Foxy stood over DéJà. “Did you tell my husband about my relationship with Dallas?”

DéJà stood. “This is the thanks I get for trying to help you two.”

“Help?” Foxy grabbed DéJà’s hair.
Slap!

Whack!
DéJà hit, then shoved Foxy out of the office and into the kitchen. Foxy was lucky she was her sister or DéJà would’ve chopped
her in the throat, banged her head against the wall, slammed her on the floor, and made her apologize then beg for mercy.

Foxy stumbled. Regained her balance.

Victoria stood between them.

Foxy dug in her hair, pulled out a hairpin. DéJà slipped two fingers inside her belt and revealed her razor.

“Cut it out!” Victoria cried. “We’re sisters. What are y’all doing?”

Foxy heaved, then agreed. “She’s right. I’m sorry y’all,” she said, then flung a handful of flour in DéJà’s face. “I’m sorry
DéJà opened up her mouth. You did that shit on purpose.”

Victoria threw powdered sugar at both of them.

DéJà grabbed two containers of honey.

Foxy and Victoria conceded.

DéJà said, “We’ll talk this through on Sunday, but some serious changes have to be made in your personal lives. And I’m not
asking, I’m telling you, if I can’t help both of you, I don’t need your permission. I’m calling my father.”

What had happened to her dad? He said he needed to stop by. DéJà texted her dad, “You okay?”

He replied, “Got some great news. Found a way to keep my staff. I’ll call you later.”

Mason Montgomery, no matter the time of night or day, was always working on making somebody else’s life better. DéJà was trying
to do the same for her sisters.

A
midst bliss

There is sorrow

Both self-inflicted

To know not pain

Is to know not joy

Dying with no addictions

No love

No dreams

No happiness

Is a spiritual confliction

The road chosen is bleak

For often those who make decisions

Do not think

Before they seek

Tell Naomi or keep it all in was Victoria’s tremulous dilemma. She could boldly march in the bedroom, blurt out the truth,
and pretend she’d never said a word. As she vacillated, her heart rate increased. Was she betraying Naomi? Maybe she was making
a big deal out of something her wife could help her with, if she knew. Perhaps she was doing the best thing by waiting for
the perfect moment. None of her options felt like the right thing to do. It was Friday night. Victoria didn’t want to ruin
their weekend. She decided to wait another day before confessing.

She stood at the kitchen sink staring at the faucet. Turning on the water, she rinsed a colander full of blueberries loaded
with antioxidants that would purge toxins from her body. What about her conscience? What could expunge her guilt?

The small steps she took only prolonged the inevitable. Entering the bedroom with a bowl of fresh blueberries, Victoria cleared
her throat, then asked, “Any good bedtime stories?”

“How’s your arms?”

“Better. They’re not hurting anymore,” Victoria said. She had a lot on her mind, but the fading marks on her biceps were furthest
from her thoughts.

“And you? Are you hurting?” her wife asked.

“I’ll be okay.”

“Want to discuss what happened? Why your sister called me looking for you?”

“Hurting my arms was an accident. I’d forgotten about them until you mentioned it.” Victoria asked, “What’s happening at the
office?”

Not focusing on the playlist selection she made from their iPod, Victoria eased her naked body atop the covers beside Naomi.
She placed the bowl between them praying tonight would be better than last night. Hopefully Rain had taken her attack as a
sign to back off.

Neither Victoria nor Naomi wore pajamas or cared to rest under covers that restricted their freedom of movement. A soft melody
resonated throughout the room. Naomi turned off the television.

Rachmaninoff’s “Lilacs” trickled through the air like a musical waterfall, like background confession music in a love story.
Not a good choice. Victoria’s body became tense. She fluffed her pillow, shuffled her legs. The classical piano rhythm strummed
her emotions like a harp, making her want to sing like a canary. “Tell it all,” her subconscious said, tapping her on the
shoulder. Exhaling, she remained silent.

Those crystal blue eyes looked at her. “You probably have an idea, sweetcakes. Your sister’s marriage… I don’t know all of
what’s going on, but I’m confronting Winton in our next partners’ meeting. You know I’m not the type to get involved in other
people’s business, not even yours, but his fucking Nova could jeopardize our practice. That woman is dangerous. Potentially
lethal. She’s the type that will hold us liable if she loses her case,” Naomi said, scooping a handful of blueberries.

Victoria had forgotten about the bowl of berries that were in the bed. She picked a few, not to eat right away, but to help
calm her nerves. “How do you know for sure he’s fucking her?”

Naomi opened her mouth, dropped in a few blueberries, then answered, “Try my walking in on them with his dick buried in her
pussy.”

Oh, no
. Healthy or unhealthy, penetration created an emotional bond. Being sexual with Rain had taught her not to be penetrated
unless she was prepared to accept the emotional attachment. The more Victoria thought about Rain, the more clearly she realized
she didn’t know the man inside the man. DéJà was right. Rain did believe everyone was indebted to him.

“Why didn’t you say something when you saw them?”

“Sweetcakes, when I’m at work, I’m in lawyer’s mode the entire time. If I had said something, I would’ve become an identifiable
witness if she filed a case.” Naomi continued, “This morning, I’d left my notes in our mock courtroom. Walked in at lunchtime
to get them, and Winton’s pants was below his knees, Nova had on a judge’s robe, nothing else from what I saw. Her legs were
wrapped around his thrusting ass. How stupid can he be?”

“Are you sure she didn’t see you?”

Naomi shook her head, ate more berries.

“Is that no, as in she didn’t see you, or are you not sure if she saw you?”

“She didn’t see me, sweetcakes.”

Victoria knew her sister would be outraged if she found out. “Don’t tell Foxy.” Foxy deserved to know the truth but her knowing
would complicate Victoria’s situation. Victoria questioned herself:
And Naomi doesn’t deserve to know the truth about Rain?