Sinful (7 page)

C
handelle spent the entire day moping at her desk. The stack of home redecorating magazines she'd studied copiously were of no interest. Something was wrong with her man, but she couldn't put her finger on it. The symptoms were obvious. Marvin was working more than Chandelle felt he needed to, he had become prone to staying out even later, and the healthy romantic jaunts she could always count on in the past weren't nearly as likely with his hectic schedule. Those were the symptoms, what caused them were considerably more difficult to detect.

When Chandelle's phone rang, she glanced at the caller ID. A very caring friend and the junior partner of a successful marketing company had beckoned her. “Hey, Grace,” she said, after holding the cold receiver to her ear. “No, I haven't gotten to the Dream Creams file yet. I'm sorry. I'll get right on it. Yes, Grace, you'll have it by four.” When Chandelle sighed unwittingly, she was summoned into the boss' office. “Right this minute?” she asked, alarmed at Grace's managerial tone. “Yes, ma'am.”

In the eighteen seconds that it took Chandelle to reach Grace's doorway, she didn't figure that dragging her feet while prepping a client's chart for an upcoming meeting would land her in the doghouse. Although she'd taken her job seriously, and was rewarded a promotion because of it, Chandelle knew Grace didn't allow for sloughing at any turn. Since it had been fourteen years since she'd been pregnant the first time, Grace wasn't in the mood for any foolishness. Depending on how that baby was treating her, she'd been known to run hot and cold at a moment's notice. Chandelle was hoping for a plane of emotional stability landing somewhere in between the two.

Standing at the mouth of Grace's office, Chandelle cautiously poked her head inside. “Yes, Mrs. Peters,” she said, just above a whisper.

“
Mrs. Peters?
Maybe you ought to come in and have a seat,” answered Grace, as she studied her younger associate arduously. That hitch in Chandelle's voice she'd heard on the phone didn't stop there. Now it was leading her around by the nose. “Chandelle, you're going to tell me what's gotten you moving slower than molasses, because my feet hurt too much to also have my head hurting as a result of trying to guess.”

Chandelle, wide-eyed, snickered uncontrollably at Grace's grumpy tirade. “Please, I'm sorry, Grace. Working full time in your condition must be challenging. I'd hate to add to the stress.”

“Good, then don't. Hurry up and get to telling me why the client's file isn't complete and on my desk?” When Chandelle acted as if she might balk at the idea of sharing her business, Grace groaned and leaned back in her leather chair. “Come on now, I've already told you about my feet.”

“Right, you have,” Chandelle replied, shifting her weight to the front of her chair. “I don't know what it is really, but something is up with Marvin. He hasn't been hisself lately.”

“And what about Chandelle, has she been herself lately?”

“You know me,” replied Chandelle, suggesting she was never off-kilter.

“Yes, and that's why I asked,” Graced offered honestly. “See, there's often three sides to every story: his, hers, and the truth.”

“It's not like that, Grace, not this time,” Chandelle explained. “It's something I don't understand. Marvin has not been the type to run with the fellas or work himself into a coma. We don't ever seem to…” she started to say before remembering Grace was still her boss after all. “Well, let's just say I'm sleeping alone more now than when I was single and auditioning, know what I'm saying?”

“Uh-huh, but do
you
know what you're saying. Look, Chandelle, from what you've told me, I'm sensing that Marvin is running himself ragged and avoiding you for the same reason.”

Chandelle eased back into the chair and crossed all ten fingers beneath her chin. “My spirit is telling me that he's sneakin'.”

“Has he given you any real reason to think that, or is your loneliness overriding your intuition? Marvin is a good man, we both know that. We also know how much he loves Chandelle. Perhaps this is a good time to sit him down and get to the root of the problem. Marvin's sensible, get him to talking about things and it'll play itself out. I agree that something is keeping him away from you, but trust me on this one, for people who love one another more than they want to be alone, it always does work out.”

The words Grace planted in Chandelle's mind made a promising impact. She hustled throughout the afternoon and delivered the file with time to spare. Chandelle drove home for the weekend thinking that if only manipulating her husband to come clean were that easy, getting him to come home on time would have been a cinch.

After taking Grace's words to heart, she waited for a perfect time to have that “getting him to open up” chat, but it appeared by Sunday evening that it would never arrive. Even with Dior chasing cocktail waitress gigs for the last two days, Marvin wasn't at home and awake for three minutes at a time. Chandelle just kept telling herself that her husband was crazy about her and that they were very fortunate to be moving upstream with a new home.
Build bridges, not walls
, she kept reminding herself, although her quick temper made that easier said than done.
Just get him to open up about what's got him acting all distant and love will take care of the rest.

Chandelle stood in the kitchen of their small apartment, wrapping flatware in old newspaper. She was so excited when their mortgage loan for the house on Brass Spoon was approved two weeks before. Marvin had been sulking, ever since then. Although she tried to overlook it, the increasing long hours at the job had only intensified, and so did the anemic paychecks he'd been bringing home despite busting his rump for an unappreciative owner. After being married for three years, Chandelle thought she knew her husband. In short order, she had to learn the hard way how little she knew herself.

“Marvin, do we have any more old newspapers?” she yelled, standing over a stack of china plates yet to be wrapped. “Marvin!” she shouted, when he didn't answer.

“Yeah, I'm watching the game. Cowboys about to get a touchdown,” he said finally.

Chandelle rolled her eyes, and then pretended she wasn't bothered that he didn't jump into action the way he used to when they first married. Back then, he was all about her and she missed that. To make matters worse, seemingly he'd become all about himself, and that was unacceptable. “Marvin! I need you to get some more newspaper. I'm out already and I haven't even done the china from our wedding yet. Marvin!” When Chandelle stepped around the corner into the tiny den area, Marvin's eyes were fastened to the expensive flat screen as if he were sitting in the stadium on the fifty yard line. “Ah-hmm,” Chandelle uttered, as if clearing her throat. “Forget it, I'll run to the corner store myself,” she said, starting to collect her purse and coat.

“Good, now I can finish watching The Boys put it on them rusty-butt Redskins,” Marvin said, louder than he should have.

Chandelle cocked her head to the side, smirked her displeasure, and began to fume over the way her husband had blown her off for a stupid football game. “So, you really are gonna let me go out into the cold while you sit on your behind watching those scrubs lose another game?”

“Chandelle, don't start,” Marvin barked, dismissing her.

“Don't start? That doesn't sound like a man who cherishes his wife's safe being.”

“Hey, didn't you say you were going? Who am I to stop you?” Marvin argued. “Wait 'til halftime, and then I'll go. Otherwise, pick me up some pork skins and I'll see you when you get back.”

Yes, something had definitely changed. There was a time, not so long ago, when Marvin wouldn't have thought of sending his wife out into the elements. Chandelle didn't understand how it happened or when exactly, but she felt compelled to get at the root of it without wasting another minute. “Marvin, I want to talk,” she announced, while standing directly in front of the television. “So you need to turn that off.”

“Move, Chandelle,” he fussed, trying to shoo her away. “Move, girl, quit playing now.”

Defiantly, she refused to relinquish her position. Instead, she crossed her arms and flashed Marvin a hardened stare. “I'm not moving, so you can either watch the TV through me or you can talk to me. It's up to you. You can either misssss…!” she screamed when he leaped off the sofa, gently scooped her up, and moved her from blocking his view of the tube. “Oh, it's like that now, huh?” Chandelle ranted. “You just gon' resort to putting your hands on me. Uh-huh, that's the way it always starts with playful nonaggressive manhandling, but before long the pushing, shoving, and slapping starts! Is that what you want to do, Marvin? You want to beat on me?” Although Chandelle wasn't serious about Marvin hurting her, she was willing to say just about anything to get a rise out of him. It had been a while since he orchestrated one in the sack.

Marvin frowned at her, vehemently objecting to her unwarranted outburst. “Whutever, Chandelle. If that's what you call me putting my hands on you, you're slippin'.” When her bothered expression didn't change in the least, Marvin marched past her. He snatched up a thin jacket off the wooden coat rack near the door. He wrestled it on quickly and felt his pants pocket for the car keys. “Okay, since you want to put on a show. I'ma go watch the rest of the game at Duper's where ain't nobody gonna be silly enough to jump up in front of the TV.”

“Ohhh, so now I'm silly!” she sassed. “So, how long have you had that opinion of me? You didn't used to think I was so silly when you begged me to marry you.
Chandelle, I love you, I need you,
” she mocked. “Now look at you. All I wanted to do was talk, but you'd rather send me out into the cold so you can watch some stupid team that ain't worth a bent nickel anyway.”

“Everybody's entitled to their own opinion,” Marvin said casually, as he searched around the den for his keys. When Chandelle spotted them first, she dashed over to the end table and grabbed them. “Cool, give 'em to me and I'll head back after the game.”

“Ain't giving you nothing until you tell me what's wrong with you. Lately you been hanging out with the boys, and that's not like you, Marvin. We hardly say two words to each other when you do come home, and that's not like us.”

“Chandelle, we can talk about this when I get back from the bar. Stop playing and give me the keys,” he demanded, getting more annoyed by his overdramatic wife.

“Uh-uh, not until you tell me what's so important out there that you can't seem to stay away from it. What's at the club that you don't have here? Drink, we got that. Music?” Chandelle asked, turning up the stereo system loud enough to upset the neighbors. “What? Sounds like music to me. Oh, can it be sex you're out there hunting for? Nah, I know it can't be that, because you don't even want the good stuff going to waste up in here.” Chandelle was exasperated. She'd used everything she could to make Marvin argue with her, but still he refused. He simply stood there with a bothered look on his face that made her want to fight even more.

“Are you through now?” he asked finally. “Can I go or are you not finished with the theatrics?”

“Why not, it's obvious that you don't care about us anymore. I don't know why we're moving into the house on Friday. What we have here isn't much of a home; three thousand square feet won't change that,” Chandelle concluded loudly.

“Now you're talking,” said Marvin excitedly. “I'm still not sold on buying that big of a house to begin with.”

“Negro, please! The way you were running behind that real-estate agent, you'd have said yes to every house she showed us if I wasn't there to stop you.”

“Well, she was a hard worker and I appreciated that,” he answered. “It's hard dealing with people who don't know what they want. I ought to know. Down at Appliance World, I spend most of my time breaking down my extensive product knowledge, per the salesman handbook, and explaining the differences between the benefits only to have the customers either go with the cheapest appliance or the one that matches what they already got at home. I'm just saying Kimberly's a hard worker is all.”

“Yeah, I see she did a number on you. Since when did you start calling her Kimberly, Marvin? Have you been talking to her when I'm not around? Y'all got a little thing going on?” Chandelle interrogated.

“Now I know I need to bounce. Give me the keys, Chandelle,” he ordered, sticking out his hand to receive them. “Chandelle, quit stalling and give them to me!”

Instead of complying, she grabbed the waistband of her sweatpants and dropped the keys down inside. “How bad do you want them,” she goaded, “bad enough to take them from me?”

As soon as she smarted off, Marvin lunged toward her. Chandelle shrieked at the top of her lungs, laughing as she skirted around the small room to avoid capture. Marvin chased and Chandelle cackled wildly until he caught up to her. Unfortunately, Marvin stumbled over the sofa ottoman and came crashing down on the coat rack, knocking her against his beloved flat screen. She tried to brace herself but couldn't. Chandelle and the television slammed hard against the floor. Both she and Marvin watched as a big puff of smoke rose from the expensive television.