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Authors: Carl Weber

Tags: #Fiction, #Adultery, #Married men, #African American, #General, #Domestic fiction, #African American men

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BOOK: So You Call Yourself a Man
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19
Sonny

I was staring at the family portrait that I'd taken from the wall of my apartment when I left with Mr. Hopkins. Tears were falling from my eyes as all kinds of memories of my wife and kids flooded my mind. We had a good family, and I'd been racking my brain trying to figure out what went wrong. Was I that bad as a husband and provider? How could she do this to me? She'd stripped me of my dignity and literally left me with nothing more than a few boxes and the shirt on my back. I'd never been so humiliated in my entire life. That was okay, though, because after tonight, when it was all said and done, the pain might not be gone, but I'd be able to move on with my life.

Straightening out the portrait of my family, I took out my lighter and flicked it on, turning it up until a two-inch flame came out. I kissed each of my kids before placing the portrait under the flame. I took one last look at Jessica, and a tear rolled down my face until I could taste it.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered as I watched my family go up in smoke, “but what I need is closure.”

From that point on, I sat back in my seat and waited for her to come out of her office. Fifteen minutes later, like clockwork, she walked out of the building and headed for her car. She was wearing a navy-blue suit that was very professional, but it couldn't cover her large behind, and every guy she passed was breaking his neck to look at it. I'm not going to lie, it pissed me off the way they were looking at her, and I didn't calm down until she got in her car.

Once she pulled out of the parking lot, I hung back a few cars as I followed her. There was no need to be all up on her and make her notice me. I'd known where she was going before she even got in the car. After all, I had been following her for almost two weeks without her knowledge, and she was, if anything, a creature of habit. I still couldn't believe I hadn't caught her with a man yet. Then again, that was probably a good thing because I would have lost it right then and there. It was hard enough trying not to approach her these past two weeks. When she pulled in front of the school, I parked about a block and a half away so I could see her car with my mirrors but wouldn't attract any attention. The last thing I wanted was for some observant parent to start talking to school officials about the suspicious white cargo van that seemed to show up around the same time every day the after school program let out.

The kids were in some type of fancy after-school program where she had to go inside to sign them out. How she could afford to pay for private school and an after-school program on a receptionist's salary I don't know, but I made a mental note to find out.

About five minutes later, she drove past, never even looking my way. I didn't pull out behind her because it was Thursday and I knew she'd be headed to the supermarket. I happened to know a shortcut that would get me there at least five to ten minutes before she arrived, so I'd be waiting when she got there.

Just as I predicted, I was parked and waiting for her when she pulled into the underground garage at the supermarket. It looked like today was the day I'd finally execute my plan, because she'd parked right where I wanted her to. I gave her a minute for her and the kids to leave the parking garage and go in the store, then I jumped out of the van, hurrying after them. I was getting pretty good at this sleuth shit, because once they doubled back and came down the same aisle where I was, but they never even noticed I was there following them. It's amazing what a hat and some sunglasses can do to change your appearance. I'd thought about confronting her when she was in the supermarket, but there were too many people around for what I had planned. I watched her and the kids fill up a shopping cart for about thirty minutes, then slipped back to the parking garage when they headed toward the register.

Once inside the parking garage, I glanced at my watch. I had about five minutes to get my plan into action, so I headed straight for my van. I got in, ditching the disguise before I searched for an empty parking space between the entrance of the garage and her car. The hard part was finding a space she'd definitely pass. Luckily, just as I started to search with the van, a car pulled out of the perfect space and I backed into it. Immediately, I shut off the van and unlocked the hood. I checked my watch again.
Two minutes to go
, I thought, as I stepped out of the van and stretched. Every muscle in my body felt like a rubber band, I was so nervous.

Please, God, don't let me get caught
, I prayed.

I walked around to the front of the van and lifted the hood. When I spotted her and the kids entering the garage, I took a deep breath, bending over the van so my head was underneath the hood like I was trying to fix something. A few seconds later, I could hear the kids running around, but I never lifted my head up from the engine, even when I heard her yelling at them a few feet away.

“Damn it, Tony, didn't I tell you to get your butt over to this cart?”

Patience, Sonny, patience, my boy
, I kept telling myself.
She's almost there.

By this time, she was close enough for me to hear the cart and see the kids' feet. Once I saw her feet, I purposely backed into her cart.

“Ah, shit, watch where you're going,” I growled angrily.

“Oh, I'm sorry, mister.” It took a few seconds for her to recognize me, but when she did, her jaw dropped as if she was frozen in time. I would have paid good money to know what was going through her mind at that exact moment.

“Sonny? What are you doing here?” she whispered, grabbing the boy by his collar. I didn't say a word, but a huge grin crept across my face. I'd gotten the exact reaction I'd been looking for, and her look of surprise said it all.

“Didn't think you'd ever see me again, did you?” There was a long pause between my words. I rested my hand against a pole, blocking the path to her car.

“No, I can't say I did.” She smiled, snapping out of her haze.

“It's good to see you again, Tiffany.”

“It's good to see you again, Sonny.” She let go of her son and walked over to give me a hug. I held her tight, keeping the embrace for a little longer than she expected. When I finally let her go, she stared at me, looking confused. “What are you doing here? I thought you lived in Seattle.”

“I did, but things have changed in the past few weeks.” I turned toward the van, pulling the hood down with a look of frustration. “My wife left me for another man. I just returned from Seattle today. That's why I'm driving this raggedy rental van that just broke down.” I kicked the car tire.

“I'm sorry to hear that, Sonny.” She wasn't really sorry, which was evident from the smirk that was slowly taking over her face.

“Are you sorry about my marriage or the van?”

“Both.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Let's just say…because I'm happy for me,” she admitted. Her hesitation was probably because the last time she spoke boldly to me, things didn't work out the way she had planned. But what she didn't know was that this time, I had planned this out very carefully.

I turned my attention to her children. “So, who is this handsome young man and beautiful young lady?”

“I'm sorry. These are my children, Tony and Nikki. Say hi to Mr. Harrison, guys.”

They both waved, reminding me of my kids.

“So, if your van's broke, can I give you a lift somewhere?”

You can give me a lot more than that
, I thought, as my eyes drank in her figure.

“Only if I can take you and your kids to Chuck E. Cheese first.”

Both kids jumped up in the air. “Please, Mom. Please, please, please!” they screamed, and she nodded.

And there it was in a nutshell. My plan had worked. Yes, I could have gone about bumping into Tiffany a lot of different ways. Hell, I could have just gone to her house; I knew where she lived. But anyone who knows anything about women knows the key to their hearts is always through their children. If you can win over her children, then getting her to love you is easy. So now I was on the path to doing what I'd planned. I was moving on with my life the best way I knew how. I was going to replace one family for another. That way, I could finally have closure.

20
Brent

It was Sunday, the Lord's day, and the first day I'd seen my wife for longer than a couple of hours since we returned from our honeymoon. Oh, she was sleeping at home, but after work she'd rush straight over to the hospital to visit with the first lady, then over to the bishop's house to make his dinner and lunch for the next day. Now, going to see the first lady every day was all right with me. I mean, the lady was dying, and you can't get back lost time. But this cooking the bishop's meals stuff was out, especially since I was home alone eating TV dinners and spaghetti out of a can. Don't get me wrong, I knew the bishop was an important man and he had to eat, but he had three or four hundred women in the congregation who would love to cook his meals. Why the heck was it my wife's responsibility? That question was the main reason Alison and I were arguing in the church parking lot before we went in for Sunday service.

“Brent, I promised Charlene I'd do it. Besides, the bishop loves my cooking and he's got to eat.”

“I don't care, Alison. Your husband loves your cooking also, and he's got to eat too. Now, you tell the first lady you can't do it. Matter of fact, if it will help, tell her I said you can't do it. There are plenty of women in the church who can cook the bishop some good meals.”

“But Brent—”

I cut her off. “But nothing. You think I don't know what this is all about? You and the first lady ain't slick.” She gave me this
What-are-you-talking-about?
expression. “I know what you're up to. I know you don't want any women in that house.” Her silence confirmed my suspicions. “You two don't give the man any credit, do you? He loves his wife, Alison. She doesn't have anything to worry about.”

“I know that, Brent, but Charlene said…Brent, I promised her. I can't go back on a promise.”

“What about the promises you made to me? I guess those don't mean anything. Maybe I should talk to Lisa Jackson or Sydney Wilson about cooking for me. I'm sure if I told them that you were too busy to cook my meals, they'd be happy to volunteer.”

Alison's face lost all expression. She knew that Lisa and Sydney had been after me from the start. Sydney didn't even come to our wedding because she was so upset by our marriage. Alison was also intimidated by their high-fashion looks and slim bodies.

“You wouldn't,” she challenged, but it was obvious she was scared.

“Why not? A man's got to eat. Isn't that what you just told me?”

“Brent, don't do this. Don't twist my words. Charlene is sick.”

“So am I, Alison. I'm sick of you not being home. I didn't get married to sit at home alone. I told you when we got married that I wanted a family. I thought we were going to try and have a baby right away.”

Her voice warmed up as if for the first time she realized what was wrong. “We are, honey. It's just that she's my friend and she's sick. Wouldn't you want her to be there for me if the shoe was on the other foot?”

“No—I mean, yes. But I wouldn't want her cooking my meals, and I'm sure the bishop wouldn't allow it. Now, you can visit her every day, but when visiting hours are over, I want you home. Don't get me wrong, but it's been two weeks since…well, you know…and I miss you.” I gave her the look.

I know how this sounds, but it wasn't really the sex that I missed. It was the affection, the camaraderie. Shoot, I just missed my wife and best friend. But if she was willing to come home if she thought it was all about the sex, then that's what I'd let her believe.

“Ohhhh, baby, I'm sorry.” Alison almost looked ashamed, like she was just realizing she might be at fault here. “But you know what? As soon as we get home from church today, Mama's going to cook your favorite dinner, then take you upstairs and put it on you in bed. I think tonight's as good a night as any to make a baby.” She leaned her head on my shoulder in a gesture of affection.

“Alison, that sounds great, but it's not just about that. I just want my best friend back.”

“I never left, baby. You'll see.” I took her hand and we kissed passionately until we were interrupted by a knock on my window. When we looked up, we saw several of our fellow church members laughing at us.

“Hey, you two lovebirds, this is a church, not a motel. Get a room!” Everyone standing outside our car laughed as Shorty, the church's new youth minister and church clown, cracked one joke after another until we stepped out of the car, blushing.

“I'm gonna get you for this, Shorty,” I told him with a grin as I slapped his hand.

“You can try, Brother Williams. You can try.”

I can't speak for Alison, but I couldn't stop blushing, even when we entered the church, because after Shorty, the next person I saw was Jackie, who was wearing a long choir robe. My mind was flooded with one thought and only one thought. Was Jackie wearing anything under that robe?

Bishop Wilson preached a good sermon about how your marriage should be like a threefold card. If you put God first, then your spouse, then yourself, you will have an enduring, Christ-centered marriage. Although I was listening to the bishop speak, I couldn't concentrate. I tried to focus on the sermon, but my mind kept coming in and out as I stared at Jackie's robe. Every so often, Alison would nudge me.

“Baby, you all right?”

I nodded. My mind kept wandering, though. All I could think about was Jackie playing that organ and wearing that robe with no clothes under it. When the choir sang Donnie McClurkin's song “We Fall Down (But We Get Up),” Jackie soloed and the church went wild. There were people dancing and shouting, and a few were even being struck by the Holy Ghost. Even First Lady Wilson, who was out of the hospital for Sunday church service, stood up, waving her uplifted hand back and forth, shouting, “Hallelujah, hallelujah,” over and over again.

From behind the organ, Jackie gave me a smug look of satisfaction, then a wink, as if to say, “If I can do this to them, what do you think I can do to you?”

Suddenly, I felt hot, and I was beginning to sweat. I adjusted my tie and tried to fan myself, but the sweat just kept rolling down my face. How could I be in the house of the Lord feeling like this, lusting after someone else's mate while I sat next to my own? I felt my penis begin to expand, and I had to fight hard to keep an erection from going full-flag.

“That was beautiful, wasn't it?” the bishop asked when the performance was done. The congregation responded in a chorus of “Amen.”

“Now, I'd like you to open your Bibles to…”

“Brother, it's time.” I almost jumped out of my skin and out of the pew when I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. When I glanced in the aisle, Deacon Walls was standing there next to me.

“Huh? Time for what?”

“It's time to take up the collection.”

“Oh, yeah, I'm sorry, Deacon. I'll be right there.” The deacon walked away and I turned to Alison. “I'll be back.”

Alison nodded approvingly. She was so proud that I was starting to make the moves to become a deacon of the church. I adjusted myself under my suit jacket and carried the Sunday program in front of my bulge. As I passed the collection basket along each row, the swelling in my pants went down, and I purposely avoided looking in the direction of the choir. The last thing I wanted was to be passing the collection plate and have someone spot the tent in my pants. I could just hear the whispers behind Alison's and my back now.

After I passed the collection basket up the right side of the pews, Deacon Walls, Deacon Rogers, and I went into the finance office behind the sanctuary with the church's treasurer, Deacon Alexander. I felt a real sense of pride collecting the money. As a commodities broker, everyone knew I handled money well, and they were even talking about appointing me the next church treasurer when I became a deacon in a year or so.

I left the deacons to count the money and headed to the small unisex bathroom in the back of the church before heading back to my seat. When I finished my business and opened the door, Jackie was standing in front of me.

“What do you want?” I demanded.

“I want you. Haven't you figured it out yet?” Jackie's hands reached out and began to roam my chest, but I quickly removed them.

“Stop it. We're in the church. What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing a little some of this wouldn't help.” Jackie grinned, reaching for my groin.

I stepped out of reach. “Will you stop? Don't you have an organ to play?”

“I sure do, and if you would stop moving around, I'm going to play it like a flute.”

Like the other day in the car, I was starting to get fed up with Jackie's behavior. Common sense told me it was time to go back to my seat before someone overheard what was being said and misconstrued it. I started to walk away.

“Hey, Brent,” Jackie called.

I knew better than to turn around, but I still did it. “What?”

“This.” Jackie was standing in the entrance to the restroom. In one swift motion, Jackie had turned around and the robe was lifted up to expose two perfectly round brown globes. I wanted to avoid looking, but my eyes wouldn't listen to my brain.

“I told you I wouldn't be wearing anything under my robe. How do you like my assets?”

Of course I didn't answer, but the truth was, I liked Jackie's assets. Matter of fact, they were now permanently ingrained in my memory for those occasional times I needed help getting it up for my wife. I hurried back to my seat, grinning like the little boy who'd just seen his first copy of
Playboy
. The memory of that first peek was a secret a boy would keep with him for the rest of his life. I felt the same way about Jackie's ass. I'd never tell anyone, but I'd always remember.

BOOK: So You Call Yourself a Man
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