Sharing the Sheets (3 page)

“Okay, honey, I'll see you later. Have a good day. I love you,” I said to Mark before he left for work. Those words felt empty. I loved him, I truly did, but I just wasn't completely happy. I needed it all. All the money in the world wouldn't make me entirely happy, but it sure helped a lot.

The sunlight got me out of my king-sized bed. My body felt rested for the first time in weeks. I'd downsized Tony to once or twice a month. As much as I loved sex, that shit was tiring: fucking damn near every day for the past month straight for no less than two hours every session. That man put it on me like a hot curler. Every time I saw him he had me jumping at the slightest touch. He was getting too close. I was getting too close. I started to feel like an addict; I had to have it and it didn't matter where or when.

The last time I saw him was three weeks ago at China Grill in Midtown when Mark was out of town on business. I purposely set up a lunch date instead of a nightcap at a hotel. But like an addict my sobriety was tested and I failed miserably. I fucked him in the bathroom after I told him I wanted to slow things down. It was time for me to move on. It was a fling to boost my marital sex life, which it did. I may have enjoyed sex with Tony more, but mastering the moves on my man secured my future in many ways he couldn't completely fulfill.

My life was almost perfect, but there was one thing missing: a ring with meaning around my finger. Mark had provided for my every want when it came to my material and emotional demands. He only lacked in the bedroom, but it seemed that my little fling had helped me deal with his regressions in that department. I just needed that ring around my finger.

Our relationship had been eight years strong, but for the past year my feelings about that “little piece of paper” had changed. I wanted the big wedding, the engagement party, the bachelorette party, the bridal shower; I wanted it all. I was tired of being that woman who had a relationship that could be questioned because we weren't married. Everyone knew we were together and financially I was taken care like a wife. Everything had my name on it: house, summer house, cars, business, and bank accounts. I was far from stupid.

As a woman of thirty-five who couldn't have kids and didn't have a menstrual cycle every month, I might be disappointed and understandably depressed. I wasn't; not at all in the least. I found out when I was sixteen that I wouldn't have kids, my cycle wasn't normal, and it would probably just stop in my early twenties. It was actually a blessing in disguise. I was a straight slut in college, only because I couldn't get pregnant. There were too many girls who tried to keep up with me, but only became depressed by the number of abortions they had to hide from their parents. The doctors told me adopting was one of the many options for kids, but I didn't want any of that.

I hopped out the bed and headed to the kitchen. Mark was so wonderful to me; my latte was waiting on the marble countertop beside the morning paper. I took a seat on the stool and opened the paper. As I flipped through the headlines, I heard my phone sounding off.
Who the hell is calling me at this hour?
I rushed off the stool and dashed to the bedroom. By the time I got to the phone the ringing stopped. 1 Missed Call rolled across the screen.
I bet it's Tony.
I touched the screen to check the number. It wasn't Tony. It wasn't any number I knew. I looked at my phone strangely, racking my brain about the number. Suddenly, the voicemail indicator popped up. Instantly, I checked it.

“Hello, I got your number from a mutual friend, Amanda. She told me that you may be interested in my services. You can call me back at 305-678-9765, if you're still interested.” His voice was raspy and borderline .

I'm going to kill this bitch Amanda for giving my personal number out!
I immediately pulled up her cell number and called her.

“Hey, girl, what—”

“Who the fuck did you give my number to, bitch?” I went in on her immediately.

“Well, hey to you too. Did you even give him a chance or did you just hang up on him?”

“What? Give him a chance for what? Amanda, I'm not doing another free broker for hire. I can hear it now: ‘I'm a friend of so-and-so and they said there's no fee.' I told you about that shit when you did it the first time. You better tell him to lose my number because I can't help him.” I was fire hot marching back to the kitchen.

“Damn, Gina, calm the fuck down. Stop tripping.”

“So tell me why you give a total fucking stranger my number?” My temper was boiling.

“Gina, he was the personal chef who catered the dinner you was so fond of last week. Remember, you asked me to pass your number along.”

I felt like an ass. She was right. My hot steam defeated by a good deed.

“Why you not snapping now? Mmm-mmm. You really need to see somebody about your anger issues.”

“Oh stop, okay, okay, I'm sorry. I totally forgot about that. Shit, why it took him so long to call me anyway. Wasn't he up and coming? Doesn't he need the job?”

“Please, he doesn't need anything. He's loaded with old money, girl. Cooking is just something he loves to do. And he's single. I'm trying to get him over again to cook just for me. You know, answer the door naked and see if he takes the bait. What you think?”

“Girl, do what you got to do. Are we still on for later?” She was trying so hard to get her hooks into someone; too bad she always came up with a bottom feeder.

“Oh yes, same spot at eight right?”

“Yep, I'll see you then. Sorry, again, Mandie.”

“Please, bitch, I'm used to you talking out your ass.” She laughed.

“Girl, you lucky I got Mark or else you would have some serious competition. Bye, bitch!” I pressed End on the screen.

Amanda was a good friend to me. I just hated lying to her. My secret had been just that: my secret. I didn't want to hear her mouth about how much I was breaking Mark's heart or how my life was too good to fuck it up like that, etc., etc., etc. My life was just that: my life. I placed my phone on the countertop and got back to checking out the headlines in the paper.

One headline after the other: nothing but immoral, foul, and heinous acts committed by man printed for everyone to read and imitate. I pushed the paper aside and gulped the last bit of my latte. I heard the front door open.

“Good morning, how are you?”

“I'm fine. How are you doing this morning, Mema?” I loved Maria. She wasn't just my housekeeper; she was my second mother. That's why I call her my Mema. I've known her since I started walking. She was my nanny as a child and when my mother died she stayed by my side as my mother would have wanted her to.

“Ahh, you know, same shit different day,” she replied with her ritual answer.

“Are you still going to help me get that closet in order today?”

“Go get started. Let me do what I have to do in here.”

“All right, I guess I'll go get started.” She knew me so well; if I didn't start the process it would never get done.

I trotted back to my bedroom knowing that she wouldn't come in to check on me for another hour or two. My two-bedroom condo was huge compared to my tiny studio apartment by Central Park West she cleaned. Before I moved in with Mark I made it clear to him that we were a package. No matter what, Maria would be a part of our lives.

I opened the door to my walk-in closet. The scent of new leather hit my nose. There was a shopping bag with the Ferragamo logo on it by the shoe rack. “Damn him,” I said with a grin. I pulled the box out the bag and opened it. “Wow, I wonder what made him pick this color.” They were bright red ankle boots with a simple bow on top. It was cute, but not my color. I tossed it back in the box and put it to the side.

My walk-in closet was the size of a studio apartment. It was one of the best presents he surprised me with when he renovated. He basically kept the blueprints and contractor out of my sight while the construction was going on. The only question he asked me was how many bedrooms I wanted. He bought the condo next door and made our already two-bedroom condo more spacious. All I did was put in my request and shop for furniture. Although I had to wait an entire year for the finish product, it was worth it.

After a year of living in a Midtown sublet, I was more than ready to move into our new space when the time came. He was very clear on me not being in the condo until it was up to my standards. Of course he hired a decorator and I didn't step foot into the place until it was perfectly in line with my taste: everything in its place; new furniture; all the things we had in storage, even my clothing, was color coordinated. It felt wonderful to step into our new home and really enjoy it, instead of unpacking.

 

 

It took us three hours to finish cleaning out my closet. I was relieved that it was all done, but the spaces on the shelves and between the hangers instantly gave me the urge to shop.

“Okay, my dear. I'm done,” Maria said with exhaustion.

“Yep, I am starving.” I glanced at my watch. “I better call Mark and see if he wants to catch a bite with me.”

“Gina, you know good and well you should be in that kitchen cooking for that man. You really are lucky. He truly loves and adores you. But, there's a big piece missing from all this.”

I knew what she was thinking: kids. After the first two years of Mark sticking around, she started to pester me about a family. Since we'd lasted so long, her pestering became a nag. I was fine without kids; besides they would only take away from
me.
My time, my money, and most of all my position in Mark's life. I rolled my eyes and tried to rush out the room before she started her lecture, rant, or guilt trip.
Let's see what it's going to be this time.

“Where you going so fast? You know your mother would want babies, even if it's through adoption. She would want you to have a family.”

There we go
—
the fucking guilt trip. Your mother would want this, she would want that, well, guess what, she's not here so the guilt trip won't and can't happen.
When she died back then I made my decision. No kids: adoption, surrogate, or any other newfound method of having a baby.

“Come on, Mema, can we not go down that road for the hundredth time? I hate to break it to you but kids are not in my future. Maybe you can have them since you want it so bad.” I got a little snappy.

“Now, Regina, you know better. All I'm saying is that maybe you could change your mind like how you suddenly want to be married. Who will you pass all this to?” She waved her arms around and followed behind me into my bedroom.

“No one. That's why I have to enjoy everything while I can. I thought you was ready to go home.” I didn't hold back the hint.

“Yes, you're right. I better go.” Mema walked past me with the stare of displeasure.

I hated those looks even if I deserved it. I hated to admit to myself in thought or even out loud that she was right. All the material items, first-class travel, and luxury condo on York Avenue meant nothing if you couldn't share it with a family of your own. The way I saw it the most she's going to get was a wedding.

I was happy to cut my day short and burn off some steam at the gym. After putting my clothes into the locker, my cell started to ring. “Hello, Mark Sands,” I answered.

“Hey, baby, are you coming home soon? Can we get dinner together?” Regina responded quickly so I knew something was up.

“Do you want to go out for dinner or did you get Mema to cook again?” I chuckled. That poor woman had used every kitchen we ever owned more than Regina.

“Why you asked me like that? I thought you liked her cooking. You sure don't like mine.”

Oh boy, here we go.
As much as I loved this woman I only wished she would just learn how to cook. “Now you know that's not what I meant. I actually love it when you cook.” I had to lie.

“Oh please, the two times I did cook I almost caught myself on fire! You're such a bad liar.” Thankfully, she laughed.

“No, seriously where do you want to go? You can meet me at the gym in about an hour. I just need about forty minutes of nonstop activity. I'll see you soon.” I ended the call before she could protest.

I turned my phone off and headed out the locker room toward the pool. It was still early in the day so the crowd hadn't appeared yet. As I pushed the door opened, my eyes were immediately directed to the opposite end of the pool. She stood there in a one-piece, all-white bathing suit with her blond hair hanging to her waist. There was something familiar about her as if I'd seen her before. Her tanned white skin, round, full breasts, and firm, plump ass turned me on instantly. She turned around and stared in my direction.

“You can close your mouth now,” she barked showing her age.

I was completely embarrassed; grown-ass man acting like I never saw a beautiful female before when I lived with one. “Excuse me, my name is Mark Sands. You're stunning, but I'm sure you hear that all the time. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” I looked around relieved to see no one in earshot.

“Are you a new member or guest?” she asked with a hint of entitlement.

No, she didn't just try to put me in my place.
I was a bit offended at first, but I didn't want to show out like most young black men with money. “Actually, I've been a member for two years now. How about you?”

“Been a member for years, but rarely use my membership,” she said in a much sweeter tone putting on a white robe.

“Yeah, I can understand. I didn't get your name?” I dared to ask.

“Vanessa Shore.”

I did a quick “what you talkin' 'bout, Willis” face. “As in Shore & Daughters?” I shook my head knowing that it would be luck too good to have. I dropped my towel.

“As a matter of fact, yes. So I take it you heard of the company?”

“Who hasn't? You're the top builder, contractor in the city! I've been trying to pitch to your father for the past six months and I can't get a one-on-one at all.”

“First, he's not my father. Six months ago we buried my father. We didn't make anything public until a month ago for legal reasons. My oldest brother runs the company now.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—”

“No, no, no, it's fine. My brother is a jerk sometimes, it's the Harvard mentality. Why, may I ask, would you want a one-on-one? Do you own land? Are you a subcontractor? Architect?”

She gave me that “you must need a job” or “I got this get rich quick scheme” look. “I'm a real estate broker.”

“We have in-house brokers. Why should we pay a bigger percentage to a broker who doesn't hold our brand?”

I couldn't believe she was digging into me not even fully clothed. “I have a vast majority of wealthy clients and I would like the opportunity to broker your building on Greene Street, in the Village. If I can't sell out the building in thirty days, I will retire on the thirty-first day.” I had to show my confident ambition.

“I see. I will have to look you up. I will have my brother call you if he's interested. If you're good, I shouldn't have a hard time getting your number.” She smiled as she walked away.

“Nice to meet you, Vanessa.” I lowered my voice and continued in a whisper, “Yup, it sure was nice to see you—all of you. Mmmm mmmm good.” I grabbed my crotch wishing for one night alone. She was smart, young, and hot; who wouldn't want to tap that ass?

I jumped into the pool to cool off and work that lustful tension out of me with some laps.

 

 

Two days later I was sitting in my office when the phone rang.

“Mark Sands.”

“Hello, Mark, this is Vanessa Shore.”

I jumped out my seat almost dropping the phone. “Yes, yes, how are you? I see you found me just fine.”

“I'm well. Actually, you have a rising reputation.”

“Rising?” I didn't want to take it as an insult, but my tone showed my distaste for her so-called compliment.

“Yes, rising. I feel that all brokers who never dealt with my company are rising so don't take it personally. You must understand my company is family owned and most of our brokers we have been dealing with for decades. At one time we had a mother and daughter team. But enough of that, from the looks of it my brother wants to meet with you to discuss your proposal. How long would it take you to get to the Mercer Hotel?”

I quickly glanced at my watch: 4:30. “How about an hour?”

“Okay, we are in the penthouse suite. See you in an hour.”

When I heard the final click on the phone, I screamed, “Yes!” My office was located on Madison Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street. My home was only fifteen minutes away. I knew it would be a rush but I knew I would be there in no more than an hour.

I dashed out the building and hailed a cab. “Eighty-ninth and York Avenue, please.” Before I knew it we were pulling up to my building. When I looked at my watch it took the cab less than fifteen minutes. I reached into my pocket. “Damn, that was fast.” I looked at the meter: $14.76. I peeled a fifty dollar bill from my money clip. “Keep the change, you deserve it. Any chance you'll be out here in twenty minutes?” I questioned stepping out the car.

“I don't know. I take a break soon.”

“Okay, thanks.” I closed the car door and with haste flew past the doorman with a rushed greeting through the front door toward the elevator. I entered and pushed 21 on the panel. I was nervous. This was an opportunity that would open countless doors for me in real estate. I knew Vanessa's company scouted land around the world for the past two years in Australia, Europe, Thailand, Caribbean, and Dubai.

When the elevator opened I hurried to my condo. As I entered, I started to empty my pockets in the vestibule and hurried to the master bath.

“Damn, what's your hurry?”

Regina's voice startled me. “Shit!” I jumped.

She laughed. “I should be scared. You're the one rushing in here like a madman, geez!”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, you're right. I'm sorry, honey.” I started to remove my clothes and shoes then continued, “I finally got the pitch meeting for the builders on Greene Street. Only catch is the meeting is in like forty minutes at the Mercer in SoHo. That's why I was rushing in here like a madman!” I leaped onto the bed and tickled her. Her laugh was one of the only things that put me at ease. It stifled my nervousness and anxiety for the moment.

I got her to the point of nearly urinating on herself then decided to quit before I blew my ultimate chance to become a worldwide Realtor. “Okay, I'm done. I better get into the shower and get dressed. I don't want to be late.”

“Yes, please go, go, please.” She continued to laugh.

After I showered, then put on one of my best suits and splashed a little cologne, I was ready to conquer whatever lay before me. “Okay, babes, I'm heading out. I will call you afterward, maybe you can come meet me.” I gave her a kiss on the lips and headed out the door. I glanced at my watch in the elevator: 5:10. I had twenty minutes to get there.

My nervousness was easing its way back in.
Think of your credentials, what you can bring to the table, your buyers list
. . . My bullet points were repeated in my mind as I hopped into a cab. “The Mercer in SoHo, please.”

The driver was very slow going. How I wished the previous driver was in control. It was like he was purposely catching all the lights. I glanced at my watch: 5:20. I pulled out my cell, but soon realized Vanessa called me at my main office not on my cell. I started preparing my excuses for my lateness in silence. After about fifteen minutes of stop and go I finally made it. I swiped my credit card and hurried out the cab.

Before I entered the building, I adjusted my suit jacket and smoothed my hair with the palm of my hand.
All set.
I got onto the elevator staring into the brass walls fixing myself. When the doors opened I was surprised to see Vanessa standing there. I damn near barged right into her. “Oh—”

“Mark, I—”

“I'm sorry. Are you okay?”

“No, no, I'm fine. I was just heading downstairs for a moment. Just knock on the door to the right. I shouldn't be long.”

“Okay, see you in a bit.” I turned and walked slowly toward the door all the while thinking how weird for her to leave. Was she not a part of the business?

I knocked on the door, twice.

A tall, well-dressed, all-American white male answered the door. “Hi, you must be Mark Sands.” He extended his hand.

I shook it with a strong grip. The room was actually set up really nicely. Huge living room, even a dining area; although there was a tiny kitchenette it was a well-staged apartment. “Hello, nice to meet you, Charles, right?”

“Yes, the younger one is the junior, Scott. Can I offer you anything to drink or eat?” He gestured for me to be seated.

“No, I'm fine for now.”

“So, Vanessa tells me you're confident in selling out Greene Street in thirty days. All fifteen units?”

“Yes, that's why I started calling you six months ago to get this meeting.” I gave a light chuckle then continued, “When will the building be done? I bet some of those permits were a bitch to get.” I knew exactly when the company brought the lot.

“It should be done in about ten months.”

“So, I assume you broke ground already and the iron shell is done, right? You know I'll need more than just the floor plans to sell out. My clients are well known and wealthy, but if they can't see the vision it won't happen. Right now SoHo is hot. I can get some sophisticated, young up and comers, ‘new to the city' types. I mean, let's be honest, you don't want just anybody in your building. You want your buildings to be talked about, on covers of magazines, maybe even some international publicity.” His brows arched so I knew his interest piqued.

“You have international clients? Have you worked abroad before?”

“I've done enough internationally to have a list.” I wasn't going to just give him a slam in my face after he entered.

“Okay, let's just cut to the chase. Your name has come to my attention before, but your percentage is what turns me off. You want five percent more than other private brokers in the state. Now, my question to you is, are you worth that much?”

I heard the door open and in walked Vanessa. “I hope my brother hasn't been too rude.”

“Nothing but business. As for your question, Charles, I am still the number one broker in the state and soon to be abroad. My take in for the year is nothing less than ten million. Now, you tell me what broker in your firm brings in that amount of profit?”

“Mark, the bottom line is if you can sell out Greene Street in thirty days while in construction then we can seriously talk about our future projects here and abroad.”

“Okay, so this means your team of brokers will not be a part of any advertisements or contracts. Your company has solely given me thirty days to follow through with my exclusivity on the property. Agreed?” I waited intently for his response. I knew he was playing with my ego and thought maybe I might want his help. I didn't need or want it. I like to run my own show.

With a few strokes of his chin and a few “hmms” Charles agreed. “I will have my lawyer send you the contract for this deal. You have thirty days once the contract is signed.”

“Okay, since business is out the way, let's get some drinks to seal the deal,” Vanessa interjected preparing to raid the minibar.

“Actually, I really must go. My wife is waiting for me at home. It's date night,” I lied as I fluttered my eyes. I shook Charles's hand and waved a good-bye to Vanessa then headed out the door.

As I stepped into the elevator and watched the doors close, I removed my blazer immediately feeling my perspiration through my shirt.
Yes, I did it. This is going to bring me all the way to the top,
I thought loosening my tie. I walked out the hotel with a big smile. I pulled out my cell to call Regina. One, two, three rings then straight to voicemail.

“Hey, I got the deal for Greene Street. I was hoping we could celebrate when I get home. See you soon.” I hung up the phone a little disappointed that she didn't pick up, but I shrugged it off.
I guess I will see her soon enough.