The Ex-Wife (2 page)

“May I?”

I didn’t want him to stop. Whatever was to be this night was destined. He struggled momentarily to unhook my bra, but finally
it popped open. He lifted my shirt and looked delighted with my double Ds. He stared at me for a second.

“Your body is perfect.”

A woman can never hear those words enough, especially when by most standards she’s considered overweight. I was five foot
six and 185 pounds, and it wasn’t every day that someone put my body and perfection in the same sentence. That aroused me
more.

The armrest between us restricted our closeness. He kissed my breasts awkwardly before asking me to sit on top of him. I climbed
over to his seat and he moved the driver’s seat back. He lifted my shirt over my head and I wrapped my arms around his neck
as he made oral love to my breasts.

“Can I have you?”

I nodded yes. From the bulge I felt through his jeans, I wanted to have him too.

“You sure?”

I nodded yes again. He put his hands under my skirt to feel me. “Ooh, you feel so good.”

We kissed some more as I tried to come out of my panties in the confines of his car and he unbuckled his jeans and pulled
them to his knees. He grabbed a box of condoms from the armrest storage compartment, taking one out before placing the box
back. I was wet and he was rock-solid as we shared an inquisitive, passionate stare for a few seconds. Was this right? Was
this lust just too strong for us to resist? He used his mouth to open the packet and quickly put the condom on. As he held
on to my thighs and I slid down on him, we both exhaled. All our preoccupations and inhibitions dissipated as we united. We
ground slowly and sighed deeply as if this was what we both needed. He kissed me passionately as if we were longtime lovers.
He looked in my eyes with each stroke. The warm and humid air made our skin stick together, forcing us closer. It felt better
and better the longer he was inside me. It felt like he belonged there. Finally he exploded and I felt brand-new.

We talked inside his car for several hours longer. Finally, at around two in the morning, he drove me to my car. I looked
at him and I knew at that moment this hadn’t been a mistake. His expression said he saw the same something in my eyes. We
kissed. I knew that if I didn’t take the first step we would stay longer.

“Cam, I had a wonderful night.”

“I would ask you to come home with me, but…”

I didn’t want to know what had caused the
but
, because I was certain it would taint the wonderful night. “Don’t worry. We have to see those other condos tomorrow. I’ll
see you then.”

“Ayana, you’re cool,” he said, still holding my left hand.

I reached for the handle and opened the door. “Tomorrow?”

“Definitely.”

His grip was even tighter. I set one foot out of the car and slowly pried my hand away from his. Soon after, the second foot
followed and I closed the door. I wanted to scream with excitement, disappointment, frustration, and anticipation all at once
but I didn’t. I took a deep breath and followed Cam out of the garage.

M
y state of ecstasy spilled over into the next day. Cam texted me bright and early in the morning:
CAN’T WAIT TO SEE U THIS AFTERNOON.

I had planned to ask Quentin all about him since he was the one who had referred me to Cam. When I saw Quentin, I felt a little
unsure of whether I should say anything. Cameron’s energy was right. He was honest and sincere. I’m usually right about these
things so I wasn’t sure if I should solicit secondhand information. Then there was a side of me wondering if my analysis could
have been wrong because I wanted it to be right. My intellect and my emotions battled as I tried to decide what to say to
Quentin.

He interrupted my preoccupation. “How’d the home search go?”

“It was cool. We looked at two places and I’m looking at two today.”

“See anything you like?”

I wanted to laugh.
Hell yeah, I saw something I liked.
I only wished Quentin had forewarned me that his boy was so damn fine.

“Yeah, I saw one place that I really liked.”

“Cool. Cam is a real good dude.”

“He seems like it.”

Quentin and I went over notes for the show and neither of us mentioned Cam any further. I decided to delve more into Cameron’s
background once we were off the air. I knew Quentin would know it, being that they’d been friends since high school.

When I started the show, it was the first time in twelve hours that I wasn’t thinking about Cam, because I love my job more
than anything. When I’m here, I feel most like myself. It’s not exactly what I dreamed I’d be doing, but it comes so naturally.

While pursuing my PhD in psychology I started out on a journey to discover why all my good girlfriends and I were still single.
We were all in our late twenties, attractive, and had good jobs or were pursuing professional degrees. Certainly the selection
of good black men couldn’t be that bad. There had to be something wrong with us. Were we too dominant? Were we too picky?
Or did we just have bad luck? Assuming this would be the perfect dissertation subject, I began my research. Naturally, I decided
to start with the women who were in seemingly healthy marriages.

After nearly ten interviews I was shocked to learn that many of these women in the socially imposed ideal situation were unhappy,
and seven of them claimed they would not marry their husbands if they had it to do over again. While I had expected to get
responses about how great it was to be committed to the
one
, I ended up disappointed with the reality that men are men.

Besides being single, my friends and I were happy. Most of all we were free. With freedom came options and we knew we weren’t
stuck. Maybe that was why we laughed, traveled, and absorbed life. Suddenly my research shifted to single women. Were they
all as happy as we were? After interviewing a few single women, I found that a large percentage of them were unhappy too.
They felt life had dealt them a bad hand. Could it be that being a woman is an unhappy existence in and of itself? Why did
it seem that women were never satisfied? Finally it hit me. The one common denominator among the unhappy women was that none
of them had really good girlfriends. The women, single or married, with thriving female friendships seemed to get the most
out of life.

I went to my adviser to let him know that my dissertation would be called
Girlfriends:
The Therapeutic Effect
. He found my topic laughable until I began to explain. Women forgo the chance for true commitment and intimacy with each
other, assuming that it can be found only in a marriage. My adviser was still quite perplexed as I continued. Men are completely
incapable of giving women the amount of emotional security they seek. Women in turn beg, plead, and worry men to be something
that they can never be, leaving themselves eternally unfulfilled. Finally my adviser began to let down his guard and smile.

“Ayana, you’re right. I think this will be quite interesting, actually.”

“When women get in relationships, they feel like their girlfriends are disposable. ‘Finally, now I can stop hanging out and
just chill with my man.’”

He laughed. “This is very true.”

“That’s crazy. What is the shift in our brain that makes us believe that we can do without our girls now that we have a man?”
I paused, hoping the concept would sink in. “Men don’t want to go to the mall. They don’t want to gossip. They don’t want
to watch romantic comedies. Men don’t give up sports or beer when they get into relationships. So why do we give up our natural
antidepressant? Real girlfriends?”

He chuckled. “Ms. Blue, I’d like you to keep me posted. If your research is strong, I’ll approve the topic.”

He approved it and offered to help me find a literary agent. I had never imagined myself as an author, but he encouraged me
to turn my dissertation into a book. He found my research and recommendations profound. With the coaxing of my single-girl
crew and my bestie/sister Aaliyah, I turned my research into a book titled
Where My Girls At?
I was offered a two-book deal from a major publishing house and had no clue what I could write as a second book. Then one
of my good friends suggested that I write about how to be a good friend, because that was a skill not all women had.

My first book talked about the importance of friends but didn’t give instructions. The sales for
Where My Girls At?
were nominal at best. A year later
Girlfriend Confidential
hit the shelves. My friends vowed that this one would not go down like the first. We had learned our lesson: getting the
book on the shelves means absolutely nothing if no one knows anything about it. We all put our skills together and I had my
own in-house publicity team. We sent press kits to every media outlet, every female organization, and every sorority, and
attended every chick conference we could find.
Girlfriend Confidential
became the topic of discussion at hair salons, book clubs, and girl groups everywhere. Women began to deem me the relationship
expert. I started to get e-mails from people asking for my advice on every aspect of their lives. I’d only had my PhD for
a little over a year; how was I supposed to help all these people? I wasn’t ready for all this, but opportunity after opportunity
came knocking at my door. The more speaking and workshop engagements I took on, the more popular I grew.

Within eighteen months I was approached with an offer to host my own satellite radio show. I was offered an afternoon slot,
from one to two. The time slot already had a listener base, primarily African-American women. The show would be named after
my book:
Girlfriend Confidential with Ayana Blue
. I accepted the job.

Before my first day on the air I was introduced to Quentin so we could map out the format of the show. He was a senior producer
and had already designed a plan for success. On the first day he decided to have my girls in the studio with me. He felt that
would give me an initial dose of confidence and he was right. Mandy, Cori, and my sister Aaliyah were there and it was just
like a girls’ night out. With each phone call I became more relaxed. With each day I was more certain that this was where
I was destined to be. My listeners needed me, my voice, and my advice.

Now I listened to the caller on the line explaining why she was unhappy and why she felt neglected by her husband. Listening
is the most important component of my job. Having compassion and understanding for people’s feelings is the one thing I think
comes naturally for me. I needed the caller to redirect her focus, because positivity is the first step to any happy relationship.

I said, “You really have to be thankful for the little things. Don’t focus so much on what he doesn’t do as opposed to what
he does do. My dad’s favorite saying is ‘Accentuate the positives and eliminate the negatives.’ If you try that for one week,
I bet you’ll feel differently about him and your relationship.”

The caller didn’t say anything. So I continued, “You see what I’m saying?”

“I guess it’s just hard for me to understand why he can go play golf all day and not even think about how I feel.”

“When he’s out playing golf, he is thinking about you. He’s releasing stress, possibly making business deals. Despite what
time he comes home, he’s happy. Right?”

“No, ’cause he acts like I’m not supposed to say anything to him.”

“You mean he acts like you’re not supposed to nag him. Just imagine you’re having a wonderful day and you come home to him
asking you ‘Where’s dinner? Did you feed the kids? Did you wash the clothes?’ Wouldn’t that irritate you?”

“Probably.”

“I’m sure it would. You don’t want anybody blowing your high. It’s really that simple.”

She laughed. “I never looked at it like that.”

“Before you start flipping out on the brother, put yourself in his shoes.”

“Thanks, Ayana. I’ll try that.”

“You’re very welcome, girlfriend. And thanks for your call.”

Quentin gave me a thumbs-up as we neared the end of another successful show. He loved my insight into men, women, and relationships.
As if it weren’t enough that my words had the ability to talk a woman off the cliff or boost her self-esteem, Quentin’s response
was a daily reminder that I was called to do this.

I paused. “You’ve been listening to
Girlfriend Confidential
. I’m your host, Ayana Blue, and we have time for one more call.”

Quentin signaled to me that there was a caller on the line. “
Girlfriend Confidential
. Tell me what you want to talk about.”

The caller cleared her throat. “I wanna talk about you.”

“OK,” I said hesitantly, because I sensed agitation in her voice.

This type of call came in at least once every few days: a woman who wanted to keep being a victim and disagreed with my trying
to empower her. She huffed, “So you’re everybody’s good girlfriend, right?”

“I’d like to think I am.”

“If that’s the case, why did you fuck my husband last night? You fucking home-wrecker!”

The engineer quickly disconnected the call, but her point had come across loud and clear on air. Everyone thought it was a
random angry woman, but I knew I had gotten myself into some shit. Quentin winced and it was clear he knew the caller’s voice.
The guilty look on my face probably didn’t help either.

My heart pounded as I began to gather my belongings. The engineer joked about how crazy people were. I offered halfhearted
chuckles, but all I could think about was calling Cam and getting to the bottom of this. The adrenaline in my body was on
fast-forward as a million different thoughts stalked me.
Is he really in a marriage as opposed to near divorce as he claimed? How did she know we’d been together? What if this was
really just a prank call?
No, it couldn’t be. There was no way some prank caller would know that I had recently slept with a married man.

Quentin watched my frenzy in disbelief, sympathy in his eyes.

“You need help?”

“No, I’m good.”

When the room cleared, I tried to avoid eye contact with Quentin. I could tell he wanted to ignore what he felt, but he couldn’t.
Finally he said, “I knew her voice when she first called. I should have never put her through.”

“What do you mean?”

“That was Yasmin, Cam’s wife. I mean his ex-wife.”

I snapped. “Is she his wife or ex-wife?”

“She is his ex-wife. They have another hearing for the divorce in the next week or so. It’s over.”

I huffed. “This is ridiculous.”

“She is ridiculous. I thought she had stopped stalking him.”

Duh! Had he
not
thought that Cam and I might become interested in each other? Why hadn’t he thought about that when he referred me? This
wasn’t good. I was writing Cam off as a one-night stand. There was no way I could risk my livelihood for a man with a crazy
ex-wife.

“Wow,” I said slowly. “So she’s a stalker. Looks like I’m going to have to find another Realtor.”

“Listen, once she realizes you’re just a client, she’ll chill.”

“Yeah, sure. Tell me anything. Is he giving you a cut of his commission?”

Quentin laughed. “Not at all, Ayana. He’s a good dude.”

“Yeah, you said that once already.”