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“That’s all you’re going to do?” I asked. “She tried to ruin our marriage and all you can do is take a deep breath? God, Jamison, grow up.”
I turned the ignition.
“Where are you going?” my mother said, running out of the house. Tyrian started crying in the backseat.
“Mother, stay out of it,” I said. “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?” Jamison’s mother said.
“Mama, just go in the house,” Jamison said firmly. “I’ll deal with you later.”
She backed off, clearly surprised at Jamison’s anger.
“I’m sorry, Kerry,” Jamison said to me.
“I know you are. But it’s not good enough anymore.”
The Affair
When I was about seven, I remember my pastor saying in church one Sunday that the devil won’t ever look like the devil when he comes into your life. And this was the perfect time to hear such a statement—at that time I’d heard my mother talk about the devil so many times as some evil, dark, floating man, that in my head he looked like a werewolf or something out of a horror flick. The devil had horns on his head, thick red skin, a tail, and razor sharp teeth that he’d use to cut into my stomach. But when pastor said that the devil had no one image, and that when he came it would likely be an attractive or familiar face, I went out looking for the devil in everything. Was my teacher a devil when she gave me a B? Was my mother a devil when she made me carry food stamps to the store?
As I grew, I realized that was an unlikely way of detecting and outing the devil. In fact, I realized that I seldom knew when I’d had a “close encounter” until the devil’s deed had already been done. Now, I don’t mean this to say that Coreen was or is the devil. The situation was quite the contrary. She was a beautiful woman who had little connection to the devil other than her human frailties, which I share. What I mean to bring up here instead is those situations, those evil situations that seem wholly innocent as they are beginning or progressing, but when you come out on the other end, you’re left saying, “That wasn’t nothing but the devil.” Now whether you or the devil is the person involved in the situation is entirely up for question. Either way, something evil transpired.
When I got the e-mail, that first e-mail from Coreen, it was just weeks after the Black Enterprise story ran in the magazine. I was feeling pretty good about my business and excited by all of the accolades I was receiving from random people in the street. I’d be out at lunch and someone would walk up to me and say they’d seen me somewhere before and some people would ask for my business card. I was sailing on top of the world and wanted never to come down. When I did come down, though, was when I’d get home. The first time Kerry saw the article, she complained about the baby grand and how she’d felt Marial dismissed her and pointed out that she didn’t include any of her quotes. She never once said how great it was that I was in the magazine nor offered to have it framed, as I thought she would. Instead, she complained and the only positive thing I heard from her was that my tie looked nice.
This, I tried to take without a bruised ego. I knew that Kerry was having a hard time. She’d started putting on weight and I was beginning to suspect that she was tired of simply sitting at home all day, waiting for me to come home. She seemed unfulfilled and unhappy, but I honestly didn’t know how to handle her in that way. I didn’t want to make her angry by suggesting that she go back to school, and I didn’t want to make her sad by pointing out all of the great things that were happening to me. Instead, I chose to be silent to protect two things: the quiet I enjoyed by not fighting with my wife, and the sex I’d get by keeping the peace.
I thought this was fine. Not okay, but fine. We’d had rough spots in the ten-plus years we’d been together and sometimes, fine was all I’d get. Fine led to okay and then okay led to good. But I never wanted to just be bad, and I was afraid that pointing out her flaws and my achievements would make things bad on her part and the result—a bunch of arguments and no sex—would be bad on my part. These two bads only led to one place with my other friends—divorce court. And I never wanted to be there. I wasn’t in marital bliss, but I loved Kerry with every piece of my being and I never wanted to change our relationship.
Then I got Coreen’s e-mail. And the e-mail, which was so innocent, turned to us linking up. Now, I’d been around attractive women before, but Coreen just had something about her—the way she looked at me, the way she seemed to pay special attention to herself when I was coming around. At first, I thought I’d get over these things, and this was long before anything really happened between us, but then the way she spoke to me, always saying nice things and asking me for advice—hell, in my mind, that moved her from being cute to being gorgeous, amazing, and in the face of Kerry’s lack of reaction to me, everything I’d ever want in life. See, Coreen never seemed to want much, and the little I gave her, she went on and on about how great it was. If I found an hour in the day to spend with her, she’d make me a meal and bring it out to wherever I was. Then when she’d get there, she’d say how she felt so special to be eating with me and was happy that I had any time to spend with her. I hadn’t had praise like th
is from Kerry in years. Our Mexican fiestas had long turned into her being afraid to stain the antique sofa she’d ordered from Paris. And while she often came to eat lunch with me, she’d request lunch at a fine restaurant or country club where we’d either work to get connections or discuss the ones we had. Compared to that, Coreen was a breath of fresh air.
I’m not stupid enough to believe that this made her a better mate for me than my wife. Or that I had a better relationship with her than I had with Kerry. I know that my main attraction to Coreen—other than that she was fine as hell—was that she was new. See, Kerry had been there for me from the time when I wore sneakers from Payless and ate Hamburger Helper every night for dinner. While both she and I enjoyed talking about those days and I loved her for sticking by my side, at times that seemed to get in the way of her being able to see the new me. She knew I had faults. She knew I worried about my company and sometimes didn’t sleep at night. She’d been in my mother’s house and had seen me cry more than ten times about how poor I’d grown up. Sometimes I felt that to Kerry I was a man, her man, but still a man with flaws and cracks. Coreen couldn’t see any cracks. If I didn’t know something, she’d laugh it off and bring up something else. And if I didn’t want to talk about the next topic, she’d bring up something else or just sit there quiet until I started speaking. She depended completely on me. Now this wasn’t exactly the kind of woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, but damn, it felt good to have her around after a hard day. Someone not connected. Not judgmental. Not wanting or expecting anything but me. It felt good.
“Nah, dog, don’t do it,” Damien said when I told him about Coreen over a beer. Damien had been involved with so many women since he’d married Marcy that we’d stopped memorizing their names—they’d have nicknames that described them: “Thick Ass,” “Baby Mama,” “Big Titties”—so I was very surprised at his reaction. I didn’t even tell him about Coreen at first, but after we had sex, I felt really bad and thought that talking about it with the fellas would make me feel better. After ten years, I was finally in their club—married and dating. I wasn’t ready for Damien to tell me to back down. I felt bad enough.
“I already did it,” I said.
“Well, break it off now and never, ever tell Kerry. Just stop it now,” Damien said, sipping his beer with a contemplative look in his eyes. “Once you start that shit in your marriage, there’s no way to get rid of it. You know? Sometimes I think the only reason I been doing it all this time is because I did it that first time. Once Marcy found out, she became so angry and shut off from me that I had to go somewhere else to find comfort. Shit, a brother needed a hug.”
“Well, why didn’t you go to Marcy?”
“She’d hug me, and then sometimes even kiss me, but the shit wasn’t the same. I could see in her eyes that she resented me for what happened. And that shit hurt because I knew I couldn’t fix it. And I couldn’t talk about it with her, so I went and talked to someone else. Then Marcy got so mad that she started cheating. Then I did it again to get back at her for that. And here we are now.”
“Well, if you know it won’t ever be fixed, why not just leave?” I asked. I was surprised. Damien was my dog, but we never really spoke about his feelings about his wife and the only reason I knew Marcy had other men was because Kerry let little stuff slip every now and again.
“Shit, I ain’t leaving that woman,” Damien chuckled. “That’s my wife. And I ain’t breaking up my family either. Have some other man raising my daughter? All up in my crib. Hell no.” He paused and took another sip of his beer. “Marcy and I was just made for each other. I can’t leave her.”
“Can’t live with her; can’t live without her.”
“Exactly,” he said. “And I know if I feel that way about Marcy, you’d be messed up if Kerry left you. You been drinking her tittie juice since I introduced you two at that Valentine’s dance.”
“Kiss my ass.” I took a playful swing at him.
“Brother been whiiiipppeed!” He laughed and took a swing back at me. “But really, man. I’m telling you this because I know what’s out here. Just leave that shit alone. I don’t even want to hear about this broad. Go home tonight and tell her to leave you alone.”
“What if I can’t?”
