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"So, you brought that bitch over here? Did you fuck her in our house?"
"No."
"Don’t lie to me. Do you think I’m some kind of fool?" I threw a vase at him. "You been fucking the bitch all this time, but now you want me to believe that you didn’t say, ‘Come on, Barbie; let’s fuck in your new house?" I picked up a big glass ashtray and threw it at him. That one almost hit him.
"It didn’t happen!"
"It doesn’t matter!" I shouted back, and threw another lamp at him. "The fact that you brought her here, to our house, proves that you don’t have any respect for me. You never have."
"That’s not true."
"Yes, it is!" The tears were streaming down my face, and my heart felt like it was going to break out of my chest. I stopped moving, closed my eyes, and tried to calm down. "Why did she think I was the maid?"
"What?" Tyrone asked.
"When I got here, she thought I was Carmen. What’s the matter? You didn’t tell her that your wife is black?"
"What are you talking about?"
"When I got here, Miss Thing was propped up in my chair on the deck. When I came in, she thought I was the maid instead of your wife. The fucking cops had to tell her I was your wife, and she sounded pretty surprised."
I ran out of the house and heard Tyrone calling my name. I got in the car and left him standing on the lawn screaming, "Avonte!" And I wondered why I was suddenly so important to him.
I checked into the first hotel I got to, and resolved for myself that it was over. I would go see our lawyer in the morning to see where I stood financially, and go from there.
* * *
Chapter Eight
Devin
It was another one of those nights; burning the midnight oil, trying to get a project ready to present in the morning. Things had moved along a lot faster than usual for a change, so I sent just about everybody home except Sandra and Eileen, another woman who worked in the office. By one o’clock, Eileen was done with her portion and was more than ready to go home.
"So, Devin, you gonna send me home or what?" Eileen said, standing up gathering her things together.
"Yeah, Eileen, you can jet. And thanks for staying," I said, looking over her work. "Looks good—real good. Maybe you should come in at five in the evening and work until one in the morning every day. You do better work at night."
"You sound like a fool. This is not the kind of night work I like doing. If you dig what I mean," Eileen said, heading for the door. "Sandra, you about done? You want me to wait for you?"
"No, girl. You go ahead on," Sandra said.
"Okay. Now you two kids play nice together. Don’t fight."
Sandra and I both laughed. "Don’t worry, mom. I promise I’ll be good. You won’t have to come back and whip us," Sandra said.
"We’re just about done here anyway," I said to Eileen, watching her walk toward the door.
The door closed and I got back to work, reviewing the work we had spent the night doing. I
t was good—damn good, if I do say so myself. The client should be pleased with it. I looked at the clock, thinking I should be done by two. There really wasn’t any reason for Sandra to stay, but she always stayed with me until the job was done.
I looked up and noticed that Sandra was standing in the doorway. I wondered how long she’d been standing there. I gave her my very best, genuine, fake smile. "Hi, Sandra," I said, rustling through some papers on my desk, trying to present the impression that I was working, and not fantasizing about having sex with Avonte. "Give me I few more minutes, and we’ll be ready to go."
"You know something, Devin . . ." Sandra walked slowly into the office, kind of lifelessly.
She plopped down in the chair and exhaled very deeply. I looked at her eyes. She didn’t look tired. But it was almost as though she was dragging herself. Which was out of character for her; Sandra never got tired. I’d seen her go two days in this office without sleep. By the end of the second day, all of us were done, but not Sandra. She was trying to lead us in a sing-a-long of "We Are the World".
". . . I envy you," she said, fanning herself with the report she’d spent all night working on.
