Secrets of a Kept Woman (Volume 1) Read online

  I was devastated. I was so jealous of his time. I felt so good being around him that I wanted that feeling all the time. To my dismay, he would spend weeks at a time holed up in his room studying his engineering materials, and every time I called or came by it seemed like he didn’t have any time for me. Our once inseparable relationship was reduced to only moments in passing, and I really started to feel like we were taking on the role of two classmates instead of the lovers that were meant to be.

  Soon, my envious and fiery Spanish roots began to rear their ugly head. I was so sure that he had a girl on the side to fill the void in time that he had usually spent with me that I started to get jealous of this imaginary woman. I even pictured what she looked like, how she probably walked, how she laughed at his jokes, and stroked his hair. I tortured myself with these thoughts, convincing myself that he was up to something sneaky behind my back.

  He tried to convince me that it was just his schedule that had him busy with studying, work, and classes, but my jealousy eventually led to me breaking off the relationship. I didn’t want to hear his lies, or unbelievable truth. I remember vividly the evening that I called him with the news that would help to shape my future. It was just before summer break when I made the phone call I would live to regret for so many years afterward.

  ***

  “Hey, Honey Love,” he answered on the third ring.

  “Hi, Maverick. I’m glad you decided to answer.” I am stern and get straight to the point. “It’s obvious that you don’t have any time for me lately, so instead of either of us being strung along any longer than necessary, I think it’s best that we just split up now and save either of us any hard feelings.” I speak a mile a minute, trying to get my thoughts out before I lose the nerve to say what I feel. I’m young and impulsive, and I am very impatient.

  “Wait a minute, Gladys. I’ve been tied down studying for finals, but…”

  I can’t stand to listen to a lie, so I stop him before he gets started telling one. “No. Don’t say anything. I’m doing what’s in our best interest, Maverick, so let’s cut our losses early. This way you are free to do your thing, and I’m free to do mine.”

  “Honey Love?” Honey Love is a nickname he gave to me when we first started dating. Hearing the two words at this stage in our relationship is irritating. I am not trying to be lovey-dovey, so he can stop with the pet names. Undoubtedly, he is attempting to convince me to rethink the breakup.

  “Listen, I’m woman enough to tell you how I feel, and the only reason I called was to tell you how I feel about us being together. Take care of yourself, Maverick.” I hang up the phone and cry like a baby. What is it inside of young women that seems to crave drama and a constant rollercoaster ride of emotions? If I knew, I would be a rich woman.

  That summer, I go home to my parents and do not hear from Maverick the entire summer. I don’t make it easy for us to connect, either, being that I change my cell phone number. Also, I throw my friends off by telling them I am going to stay with my aunt in New York for the summer. When the fall session begins, I find out that Maverick has not reenrolled at Albany. I get word through his brother that he has been accepted to an Upward Bound engineering graduate program at another school. Just like that, he vanishes from my life without a trace. I eventually meet James at a fraternity party in my senior year. We hit it off well, and it isn’t long before we are at the altar.

  ***

  Looking in Maverick’s direction at the bar, my internal voice whispered calm words to my spirit willing me to maintain my composure. I wanted to go to him and ask him a million questions to catch up with what has been going on in his life. I wondered if he had ever married. Did he have a little Maverick Jr. running around back home – or maybe two or three? Did he ever become an engineer (I had no doubt that he had), and where did he live now? As much as I wanted to find out all of these things about him, I wanted to keep my own details on the low. What did I have to say about my own life that could be shared with a man like Maverick Douglas?

  I also wanted to offer him a million apologies for ending things the way that I did. I’d been young and muy estupido. I hadn’t thought out the consequences of my actions. Had I reacted prematurely when I had broke things off with him so abruptly those many years ago? Deep down, I think I had always thought that we’d see each other again, and maybe once he’d seen how rough it was being without me, he’d come running back, better than ever! I was so self-centered. I was wrong. But more than anything, I just wanted to be close to him, like I’d dreamed of being so many nights since we had permanently parted ways.

  Now that the opportunity to touch him in the flesh was right in my face, I stood there frozen in time. I felt myself beginning to hyperventilate, and I quickly flagged the bartender down for a drink.

  “Yes ma’am, what would you like?”

  “Extra strong cotton candy martini, please.”

  I needed a few martinis in me post haste, so that I could keep my composure in what seemed like an inevitable meeting with my past.

  My mind was moving a mile a minute full of questions, answers, and anxiety. Did Maverick have any idea that I would be at this get together? Had he seen me already, but was he acting as though he hadn’t to see what I would do? If I approached him, what would his reaction be? Does he hate me? What if he hates me? What if he doesn’t? What if he wraps his arms around me and asks if he can carry me upstairs to his room? O, Dios mio, it was only by the grace of God that I kept my composure. I was feeling muy caliente all of a sudden.

  This weekend was getting more interesting by the minute. Finally, my drink arrived, and I took a long swig of the heavenly calming fluid. Almost immediately the numbing effect kicked in, giving me the nerve to take another glance in Maverick’s direction.

  Just like so many years prior, he’d vanished. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that he was gone. The whole sighting was probably my mind playing tricks on me, anyhow – nothing but wishful thinking on my part. But then, I’d have to do some internal inspection, wouldn’t I? What would be the significance of me having visions of Maverick?

  I smiled silently to myself while I nursed my drink. I was going to have to think long and hard on that one. I shook my head, giggling softly at my own naughty thoughts.

  Then, without warning, two words I had not heard in years sent a raging heat from the top of my head down to the very tips of my neatly manicured toes.

  Chapter 12

  Shayla

  What is taking Titus so long?

  I’d showered, lotioned my skin to a silky glisten, and put on this delectable two-piece lingerie set, and he still had not made it back up to our bedroom with his breakfast. I reasoned that Rhonda must have been talking his ear off, and I hoped he was getting the name and address of the punk that abused her. After lying provocatively on the bed for a few minutes waiting, I peaked my head out the bedroom door and everything was quiet, so I called out to him.

  “Titus?”

  He didn’t answer, so I said to myself, “He must have let Ronnie out by now.”

  Ready to drive him back up the wall where he would stay the rest of the morning, afternoon, evening, and night, I planned to remind him of everything that he was missing at home, and I mean everything. My husband and I needed this time alone together without his business getting in the way. Then I thought the worst, I hope he is not on the phone talking business, or worse, one of those raggedy negro friends of his have stopped by. I tell you we can have no peace!

  I could give Titus one thing. On the rare occasion that he spent time at home, it was quality time – provided that he stayed away from his cell phone, and we had no visitors. I suppose that one of the two was already a wash with Ronnie stopping by this morning. Titus spared no expense spoiling me with gifts or performing his special late night massages in all the right places when I had his undivided attention. The thought made me smile. Thinking back to the time when he hired Chef Balal to prepare a romantic dinner se
renaded by the famous singer Joe in the comfort of our dining room, I knew he could be a really a special man when he wanted to be. I snapped back from that sentimental trip down memory lane and slowly descended the staircase making sure not to make a sound. I had a surprise or two for Titus that I knew he would enjoy.

  Moving like a model on the runway, I tiptoed through the living room. The edible gold-toned lotion spread over my body was ready to be licked, bitten, eaten and kissed. Edible nipple pastries and panties were about to make for a full course meal for my husband. When he had his fill, I planned to take him into the shower and break in the new swing. The toils of an undercover freaky housewife were never done. I laughed at the thought as well. For a few fleeting seconds, I felt like the silly schoolgirl in love so many years ago when I first met Titus on the schoolyard. To keep that feeling alive, I was willing to give the best of me to a man who would no doubt indulge completely, but I also knew that within a few days he would go back to being a part-time husband.

  I pushed those irritating thoughts to the back of my mind, unwilling to let reality ruin my rare moments of happiness. I decided a long time ago to take the good with the bad with Titus. I knew the role of a kept woman, and even though he’d “wifed” me, I was still stowed away like a mistress. I enjoyed the glitz and glam of being the first woman to a made man and made the best of the time we had together, staying true to him no matter what.

  I searched the kitchen with no luck in finding him. As I walked out of the kitchen, approaching the den, the sounds of sensual moans resonated through the door. I knew good and well he was not up in there watching porn when he had the real thing waiting on him.

  “I must have left that TV on earlier,” I said, as I reached for the door handle.

  Just as quickly as I reached for the handle, I released it like hot fire when I heard my best friend’s distinctive voice say, “It’s fucked up that you choose Shayla over me when you know she can’t be the woman that you need like I can.” My brow wrinkled up in a confused scowl. I felt my nostrils begin to flare as I pursed my lips together to suppress the shout of surprise that threatened to come forth and reveal my position.

  Then my husband let out a moan and replied, “Oh, Ronnie… shit! You know I got you, girl. Just make Big T cum for me. Get back in good with daddy.”

  A shiver ran through my spine. Hearing Titus speak his code name for what was rightfully mine to another female was inconceivable. My mouth fell wide open with anger and disgust. I had to be hearing things. Surely, my husband and my best friend were not getting it on right there in my den while I listened on the other side of the door. I pressed my ear up against the expensive mahogany and heard the unmistakable sounds of kisses, moaning, and raunchy sex talk.

  A range of disturbing thoughts came as flashes through my mind. I saw flashes of Rhonda’s smiling face looking at me that very morning as I explained to her how Titus had come home late the night before. I remembered how I had described our feverish love making, and how silent she had sat while I told her all of my intimate details. I saw a flash of Titus’ shocked face as he came down the steps that morning when he saw Rhonda sitting in our kitchen. He had insisted that I leave him alone downstairs with her, while I waited like a dumbass upstairs for sloppy seconds!

  I was unable to feel or think coherently. Every emotion seemed to push itself into my head at the same time, and none of them were good. But when I pressed my ear firmly against the door the second time and heard my husband’s moans along with slurping and sucking sounds, hurt overrode all of the other feelings, flowing through my spirit like an uncontrollable rushing river.

  If what I imagined was going on was true, my heart was going to break in two directions.

  Hearing my best friend purr and say, “Titus, you like that? I told you Shayla can’t do you like I can,” caused my stomach to begin to hurt as much as my spirit, tying itself up into a million tightening knots. I just could not believe my ears. There was no turning back now. It was happening, and it was happening in my home. My beautiful… expensive… expertly-designed… house of lies.

  “Stop talking, and work your magic, Mama,” I heard Titus say, and with that I could not comprehend, think, feel, or concentrate. Colors seemed to grow brighter and swim across my eyes. The edges of my vision began to grow dark, and I thought that I was going to pass out, so I placed one hand on a wall table for balance. Two of the people I loved the most in this world were disrespecting me to the fullest. It was as if I was frozen in place, unable to run from the incomprehensible situation that I was thrust into. After the night we shared together, after getting up and cooking him breakfast, and after preparing to spend another beautiful day with him, I realized none of it had mattered to my husband. No matter what I did to attempt to please him, there would never be any respect or appreciation from Titus. I shuddered under the weight of anger and disrespect that I was feeling, shock drying up any tears that may have tried to fall.

  And Rhonda, how could I have been so naïve? Why hadn’t I listened to Mama all of those times when she had told me, “Never tell your friends your personal business between you and your man. They act like they care about you, but they listenin’ hard, baby. Too hard.” Even though I had shaken my head and disregarded her warnings, she had been right.

  Let me not even address how this conniving bitch had allowed me to pour my heart out to her so many times about what I was going through in my marriage. All the while, she knew that she’d take any opportunity that presented itself to give my husband a blow job! I had to fight the urge to burst through the door and put that whore’s weave straight through my plasma television. All this time, I had been crying on Rhonda’s shoulders about my problems. I had been a blind fool. How long had this been going on? While she coddled me and essentially advised me to stop whining and appreciate what I had with Titus, she was one of the women who stole away precious moments with my husband. And now, she had grown bold enough to do her dirt in my own home to boot. The two of them didn’t have any more tact than to get themselves off in my house. They had just made a makeshift Motel 6 of my den while I lay upstairs like an idiot.

  Finally, I took two steps away from the door, looking at that doorknob as if it had turned into a four-eyed monster. At the moment, I was unsure of myself and any of the people that were supposed to be close to me. Everything I believed in had transformed, became demented, and caved in on itself..

  I didn’t know what to do, so I did what came natural to me. I ran. With no place to run to in particular, I ran back up to my bedroom. As badly as I wanted to confront the two of them, it wasn’t in my nature. If I was real with myself, I knew that I had always been too meek. Maybe that was part of my problem. Even when I attempted to assert myself, it came off very passive-aggressive. No one ever took me seriously. That must explain how two people who I had let into my exclusive inner circle had chosen to shit in it. Titus didn’t think his actions would bring about consequences. Why should he? They never had before. Sure, a few tears and angry shouts from me every now and then when he went too far, but other than that, it was always business as usual. He had to learn a lesson. This was the very last straw – the last hurtful thing he would do to me while I sat with my head in the sand.

  As I sank down into the bed, reality fell on my shoulders like a ton of bricks. My best friend was my husband’s mistress. While I had been crying on her shoulder, taking her advice and appreciating her attentiveness, I was the one who had it twisted. Not her. Not Titus. Me. They knew exactly what they were doing and were content on stabbing me directly in the center of my back with the precision of a surgeon. Careful to keep me alive, but injuring me nonetheless. With this incision, they went for blood, though. Knowing if I ever found this out, it would take all I had in me to keep my head up. I was cut deep. I wondered how long they had been slithering around on their bellies like the snakes that they were.

  “No!” I screamed into the closest pillow I could find to muffle the sound. “How could Ronnie
do this to me? I’ve loved her since we were kids! And Titus, there is no way he could love me the way he says he does. I knew he wasn’t true, but with Ronnie?”

  The way they played me, they both could have bought and sold me for a quarter, which was how cheap I felt. I’d been played like a twenty-five-cent video game, and they both had the controllers. If it had been any other woman downstairs right at that moment, I’m sure that I would have had the backbone to snap and confront the situation head on, but hearing him say Ronnie’s name in the way that he did threw me for a serious loop. Rhonda was blood.

  When Rhonda was sixteen and her mother kicked her out of the house because her stepfather didn’t want her there, it was me that convinced Mama to let Rhonda move in with us. I shared whatever I had with her from that day on. Apparently, I was still sharing things with her, whether I liked it or not!

  Eventually, Rhonda’s mother chose her husband over her and never did allow her to come back home. If we were close friends before then, we were practically sisters when she moved in with us. Whenever she had a problem, we both had a problem. I looked at Rhonda’s picture that sat in a frame on my dresser and tried to imagine why she would betray me now? If she thought she was going to ride of into the sunset with my husband, she had another thing coming. I screamed into my pillow.

  “Ugh! I can’t believe her! I guess she thinks screwing my husband is worth losing a sister for life. If she thinks for one minute I’m going to sit around and watch her ride off into the sunset with my husband, she has the whole situation messed up. I will leave him on my own terms, not hers or his.”

  Situations like this provided a definition for the phrase, “I found love on a one-way street.” I loved them both, but neither apparently shared the same love for me. Someone please tell me how is it that I chose two grimy ass people to love.