So You Call Yourself a Man (21 page)

I had very little to say at that point. Either I was talking to a pathological liar or I was talking to a woman who had been tortured by my good friend for years. I still didn't know which version of their marriage was real. “Take care, Jessica,” I said.

“If you do decide to talk to someone about this, Brent, consider talking to that woman Tiffany. You might be saving her life,” Jessica said, then disappeared into the crowd of window-shoppers on the sidewalk.

I had been right to think that talking to Jessica would take my mind off my problems for a while, but I had no idea that she would be handing me a whole new set of issues to deal with. Whatever the truth was, I knew that now I had to talk to Sonny as soon as I finished my business in San Francisco.

 

I thought I would be able to wait until I got back to New York to talk to Sonny, but the conversation with Jessica had been weighing so heavily on my mind that I called him from the plane before we even landed at LaGuardia.

“Sonny, it's me, Brent. You got a minute?”

“For you, I got as many minutes as you need. What's up? Does this have anything to do with you insisting we all go to church tomorrow?” His question caused my stomach to lurch.

“No, that's an entirely different issue. What I wanna talk to you about directly involves you.”

“I'm all ears. What's going on?”

“You're not going to believe this, but I saw Jessica.” There was silence on the line. “Sonny, you there?”

“Where'd you see her? Did you see my kids? Are they all right?” Sonny didn't know that I had been in San Francisco, and he didn't know I was calling from the plane, and until I figured out what the truth was, I didn't necessarily want to tell him where I'd seen Jessica.

“I didn't see the kids, but Jessica seemed all right…although she seemed scared.”

“Where is she? Do you know where I can find them?” He was insistent. I suppose any man would be anxious to find out where his kids were after they'd been taken from him so suddenly. Then again, maybe he had another reason to be eager to find Jessica. Either way, I couldn't tell him in good conscience.

“That's not important right now. What is important is what she had to say.”

Sonny's breathing was heavy and agitated. “I don't give a damn what she had to say. I know you didn't believe anything that lying heifer had to say, did you?”

I contemplated my response, wishing I could tell my friend I had no doubt Jessica was lying. “I'm not sure what to believe, Sonny. But I'm pretty sure she didn't give herself those scars on her eye and her hands.”

“I didn't give her those scars. Brent, you don't know what she's capable of. That woman's crazy. You saw how she sold all my shit.” He sounded desperate for me to believe him, like a guilty person often is. I was starting to feel uneasy, but still wanted to give my friend the benefit of the doubt.

“How did she get those burns, Sonny?”

“Look, Brent,” he said suddenly, “Tiffany just walked into the room. Can we talk about this later? Why don't we just meet somewhere?”

“I'll be home in a couple hours. Why don't you just meet me at my house?”

“Sure, man, but don't be jumping to no conclusions until I have a chance to talk to you. Oh, and let's just keep this between us. Trust me. There's a logical explanation.”

“I would hope so, man. I would hate to think that you're capable of something like this.”

“I'm not, man,” he insisted.

 

Two hours later, I pulled my car into the driveway and saw that all the lights were out, letting me know that Alison was most likely staying at the hospital with the first lady. I'm sure she was still upset that I was going to announce to the entire congregation that I was gay, and she had probably stayed away on purpose, knowing I was due to arrive home. The first thing that came to my mind was to call Jackie. Then I realized that I had asked Sonny to stop by, so I would have to put my own issues on the back burner long enough to clear up this stuff with him. If it turned out that he had indeed been hitting Jessica, I would do what I could to get him some help as soon as possible.

I stepped out of the car, then opened the rear driver's-side door to retrieve my bag. That's when he stepped out from around the side of the house carrying a baseball bat. He was dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask. Before I had a chance to think, he swung the bat at me, hitting me directly in the arm. His next swing hit my knee, and I fell helplessly to the ground. I covered my head as the bat continuously struck my back and lower spine. I knew I was in trouble when I heard my back crack. The pain was incredible, and I could only pray that my life would somehow be spared.

Cathy's call woke me up about two in the morning. She told me to get over to the house right away because it was an emergency. I tried to find out what the hell was going on, but the only answer she gave me was, “Just hurry,” and then she hung up the phone. Well, you know I got up right away and told my mother to watch Marcus because I had to go see about my family.

Cathy met me at the door in her housecoat.

“What's wrong? What's going on?”

“Come on,” she demanded, grabbing my arm and gesturing for me to follow her up the stairs. Why the hell was she being so damn mysterious? If she was taking me upstairs, there was obviously something wrong with one of the boys. As I realized this, my heart began pounding. I was relieved when we passed James Jr.'s room, but I almost burst into tears when she stopped in front of Michael's room.

“What's wrong with Michael?” I pleaded.

I reached for the door handle, but she stopped me. “Shh, you'll wake up the boys.” She pushed me across the hall into what used to be our bedroom, where she closed the door, then took off her robe. She was naked underneath. I didn't have to be told what to do next. I kissed her like I'd never done before. Whatever brought on this complete change in her behavior toward me, I wasn't going to complain now. Getting Cathy to take me back had been the only thought consuming me for weeks, and now here we were, in our bedroom, about to make love. I couldn't have asked for more.

“I missed you so much, baby,” I confessed as I picked her up and carried her to our bed. She didn't say a word, but her body's reaction was all I needed as I kissed and caressed every inch of her. When I finally went down on her, I wasn't just trying to make her have an orgasm, I was trying to make a statement—no man, no matter who he was, could do what I could do to her.

When I'd given her enough oral pleasure, I slid up over her body, positioning myself to enter her.

“Wait.” She reached over to her night table, then handed me a condom. “I want you to wear this.”

“For what? You've got your diaphragm in. I could feel it when I put my finger in you.” I hated condoms, and I only carried them for times Cathy and I wanted to be spontaneous.

“So what? I don't know who you've been with.” Her expression was set, and she obviously wasn't budging from this position, so before the mood was gone entirely, I ripped open the condom wrapper and put it on.

It wasn't the most ideal situation for me, but I made the best of it. Cathy seemed to be happy, and actually pleaded with me for a second round. When we finished, she got up to go to the bathroom, and I got under the covers to get some sleep. I don't know how long it took me to doze off, but I did hear the shower running. Don't ask me what time she woke me up, but I'm sure I wasn't asleep long.

“James, get your ass up.” She shook me.

“Huh? What time is it?” I hadn't even opened my eyes yet.

“Time for you to get your ass up.”

I looked at the clock radio. “Come on, Cathy. I don't have to get up for another two hours.”

“I'll be damned. Your ass is getting up now.” Her voice was dead serious.

“Why?” I sat up and stretched, staring at her. She was standing in front of me with her robe on and a towel around her head. In her hands were clean sheets.

“Because I don't want the boys to see you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why not? We just made love. We're on the road to getting back together.”

“Getting back together? Making love? Are you seeing the same picture I'm seeing? Because all I saw was a booty call.”

“A booty call!” I couldn't believe what I was hearing. “Is that really what it was to you?”

“Uh-huh, that's it. Why do you think I made you wear that condom? Now, can you get out of my bed?”

I got up in a huff. “Why the fuck would you call me for a booty call?” I was hurt when I realized that my dreams for a reconciliation had been hopeless. But even more than being hurt, I was insulted. This was my wife, and she had just used me like a gigolo. I had been so damn foolish.

“Why do you think I called you? I was horny.” She started to strip the bed as I got dressed. “I thought about going to a bar or something like that, but the boys were here. Besides, new dick is like playing Lotto. Sometimes you come so close, but you never know if you're gonna hit. I knew what I was getting with you. Shit, I even got a little extra, by the way. Thank you. But now you got to go.”

“This was fucked up, Cathy.”

“So was you having a baby with another woman, James. So I guess we're both fucked up.”

“Whatever.” I started to walk to the door.

“Hey, James.” I turned to see her smirking at me. With a hand on her hip and head cocked to the side, she said, “Just so you know, there was one other person I could have called.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You're not the only one who had a little something on the side when we were talking about divorce,” she said devilishly, clearly getting pleasure out of sharing this news.

“You—” I started, but she cut me off.

“Yeah, I did, but at least I wasn't stupid enough to go have a baby by someone else.”

My stomach went into knots. As stupid as it might be, considering I had an affair myself, I felt jealousy coursing through my veins at the thought of my wife with another man. I wanted to know who the hell she had been with. And who was watching my children while she was out screwing some other guy? Yeah, I knew I was being totally unreasonable, but it's what I was thinking, and there was no way I could stop it as I dropped my head into my hands and wondered how my life had gotten to this point.

When I walked out of the bedroom door, my son Michael was walking out of the bathroom.

“Daddy!” he yelled, running into my arms and calling out to wake his brother. “Jay-Jay, come quick! Daddy's home, and he's coming out of Mommy's room.” He turned to me and asked, “Daddy, did you bring our other brother with you?”

Before I could even think about how to answer him, James Jr. appeared at his door and ran toward me, arms out for a hug. “Dad!” he shouted. I held both of my boys tight. “Dad, are you staying? Are you coming back home now?” He sounded so sad.

I turned to Cathy, who was standing in the doorway. “Son, that's up to your mom. But that's a conversation for another day.”

She rolled her eyes at me, but then looked at our sons. There was no denying the joy on their faces, and she knew it as well as I did. “No, boys,” she said, “Daddy's not coming home…but he can come by and see you anytime he wants now.” She turned around and went back into the bedroom, shutting the door. I carried my boys into their bedroom to tuck them into bed with a promise to be back to see them very soon.

I'd been watching Tiffany clean the house, then work out to her Pilates tape, via webcam at work for the past half-hour. It's absolutely amazing what you can do with technology these days, and having a cousin like Lowjack brought the price of going high-tech right into my range. For the past four weeks, Tiffany couldn't fart without me knowing it. I had the poor woman so paranoid that I think she thought I had mind-reading abilities after the last couple of ass-whippings I'd given her for breaking the rules. She kept asking me how I'd found out what she did, but of course I came up with some excuse that made it look like my neighbors told me or that she'd been stupid enough to leave some type of incriminating evidence. I've got to give her credit, though. She'd been pretty good the last two weeks. I hadn't even had to raise my voice even once, which supported my theory that women are like children; they need discipline, structure, and a firm hand.

As I watched Tiffany exercise, I actually thought about going home for lunch. She looked so sexy in that Lycra doing those stretches, I was getting horny as hell. A little lunch time pu-pu would have been nice. Unfortunately, my show was ended abruptly when she stopped doing her exercises and stood up. I watched her go from the family room to the front door and made a mental note to put my foot in her ass for opening the door wearing that skimpy-ass workout gear. I wanted to scream when she invited two men in suits into our house and they sat down on the sofa.

I pushed a few buttons on my computer, activating the listening device in the living room, then turned up the volume. I almost hadn't taken the sound equipment, but my cousin talked me into it. Now I realized how invaluable it was to me. Next time I saw Lowjack, I was going to have to give him a little extra for hooking me up with everything I needed to keep Tiffany in line.

“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath. It was the cops, and they were asking Tiffany about Kareem. I should have expected this. I mean, it had been over a month since his death, and she was his ex-wife. It's a good thing I didn't leave his body behind in his house.

The cops spent almost forty minutes talking to Tiffany, and if you ask me, they were doing a little bit too much staring at her legs and breasts. I actually saw one of them bend his whole body to the side to get a good look at her ass when they were following her to the door to leave. I was going to have to teach her a real lesson when I got home. Maybe it was time to break out the cigarettes.

I picked up my phone and dialed the department secretary when the cops left. “Stacy, I think I'm going home for lunch. Can you have my calls forwarded to my cell?”

“Sure, Sonny. Just remember, you've got a two o'clock meeting with shipping.”

“Don't worry. I'll be back way before then.”

By the time I pulled in the driveway, Tiffany had called three times, probably to tell me about the cops. I didn't answer the calls, but I was happy to see she made them. I was still gonna whip her ass for sitting in front of those cops with that tight-ass Lycra, but because she'd called me before I got home, I'd forgo the cigarette punishment for now.

When I opened the door, Tiffany was sitting on the couch, still in her workout clothes. “Sonny, what are you doing home?”

“I came home for lunch. Why, did I miss something?”

“Well, sort of. The police were here.” She looked at me, probably wondering if I'd already known, considering how many times I'd demonstrated my “mind-reading” ability over the last few weeks.

“Yeah, I know. Mrs. Pollock from down the street told me when I pulled up.”

Tiffany shook her head. “Doggone it, Sonny. Why do you have the whole damn block spying on me?”

I smiled. “Don't get mad at me because I've made friends on the block and you haven't.”

“It's kind of hard to make friends when everyone in the neighborhood thinks they're on your payroll. I'm surrounded by spies. And how did she know those guys were cops, anyway? Did you have her listening at the door or something?”

She didn't know how close she was to the truth. “C'mon, Tif. People in this neighborhood can spot an unmarked cop car from a mile away. Anyway, you wouldn't be calling our neighbors spies if you didn't have something to hide.”

“That's bull and you know it.”

I waved my hand at her. “Whatever. So, why were the police in my house? And were you wearing that when they came in?” I gestured in the direction of her tight short shorts.

Tiffany wasn't stupid. She knew what I was implying, and she did not want to be punished for breaking another rule, the one that said that no other man should be allowed to see her in anything shorter than knee-length. She avoided the second question, looking frightened as she said, “They came to ask me some questions about Kareem. He's missing, and he hasn't been seen in over a month.”

“Well, good riddance. He's probably somewhere doing some shit he's not supposed to do,” I said nonchalantly. Tiffany didn't respond to that. “Hey, can a brother get a sandwich? I'm starved.” I figured I better eat before I put my foot in her ass.

“Sure, baby.” She got right back to the subject of Kareem as we walked into the kitchen. “This sure isn't like him to disappear like this. They said he didn't even cash his income-tax check, and I know that's not like him.”

“Well, you never know. If we're lucky, they'll find him floating in a river somewhere and you can collect that life-insurance policy you took out on him.”

“Sonny, I don't want him dead,” she said with mild disapproval in her voice. “That's my kids' father.”

I slammed my hand down on the kitchen table and spun around to face her. “No, they're my kids! That motherfucker didn't do shit for them or you. That's why I killed his ass.” Tiffany froze, and I realized that my temper had possibly gotten me in trouble. I tried to clean it up. “I didn't mean that. I was just joking.”

“You killed him?” This sounded like some kind of cross between a question and a statement.

“No, I didn't. I just said that in anger,” I answered, opening the refrigerator casually and assuming the conversation was finished.

She wasn't ready to let it go yet. “Sonny, tell me you didn't have anything to do with this.”

I took the orange juice out of the refrigerator and placed it on the counter. “I already told you, I didn't have anything to do with it. Now, can I get my sandwich?”

I expected to hear, “Sure, honey,” but when I turned to look at her, she was staring at me like she was still waiting for me to say something about the subject.

“What the fuck are you looking at, damn it? I told you, I didn't have anything to do with it.”

“You fuckin' killed him!” She knew I hated it when she talked to me this way, especially when she got up in my face.

“Lady, you better slow your fucking roll, 'cause you are fuckin' cruisin',” I warned.

“Cruisin' for what? You gonna kill me like you killed Kareem?” She put her finger in my face, and that was the last straw.

I grabbed her by the neck and dragged her to the basement door. “You wanna know if I killed him? I'll show you if I killed him!”

“Sonny, noooooo!”

I opened the door and threw her down the stairs. “I told you to get outta my face, didn't I?”

At the bottom of the steps, she was still moving around pretty good, but she wasn't so damn talkative now. I walked down the stairs and over to a wine barrel in a corner of the basement. I pried off the cover, and the strong scent of vinegar filled the room. “You wanna know if I killed that motherfucker? You damn right I killed him. I beat his head in with a bat, then I put him in a barrel of vinegar so he wouldn't smell.” I reached into the wine barrel. Tiffany screamed as I pulled out Kareem's head.

“I love you, Tiffany, and as you can see, I'll kill anyone who tries to get between us.” I walked over and pulled her to her feet. She was shaking as if it were fifty degrees below zero. “I think we have a little dilemma right now. I may love you, but I don't trust you. I never did. That's why I built this room before I asked you to move in.” I pointed to a cinder-block room with one door. “From now on, when I'm not home, you're going to stay in there. I can't have you talking to those cops again now that you know the truth about what I did for you.”

“No, I'm not. I'm not,” she protested, struggling to free herself from my grasp.

I smacked her. “Oh, you're going in there, all right. And when I let you out, you're going to be the perfect wife. 'Cause if you aren't, I'm going to use Tony and Nikki for batting practice, then put them in barrels right next to their daddy.” She covered her mouth, her eyes wide open in horror. “Do we understand each other?”

She nodded as the first few tears escaped from her eyes.

“Good. Now get in there. The phone's ringing, and I gotta go back to work. I'll call the school and tell them that I'll be picking the kids up from the after-school program on my way home this evening.”