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“What if I don’t agree with your terms?”
“If we need to go to court to get this settled, then so be it.”
Montie peered at me before he walked out of the room. “I’m going to get the kids’ bags.” When he brought the bags back, he handed them to me and then walked over and said goodbye to the kids. “I’ll see you guys next week,” he said hugging each of their necks.
Junior hugged him back and Montana placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Lub you, daddy,” she said before picking up her dolls and walking to the door.
This conversation was yet another finality in my relationship with Montie. Moving to Miami would not only place physical distance between us, it would put me on Jacob’s terrain. Terrain I was ready to navigate with Montie’s support or not.
Chapter 8
John
More Than a Side Piece
When I got back home, my feelings were even stronger than they were before I went to Atlanta. After having a heart-to-heart with Clara, I finally understood why I had carried around this underlying feeling of incompletion. The news of my lost child pummeled me in the chest every time I imagined marrying a young Clara with a rounded belly, carrying my child.
I never imagined my seed had been planted during our passionate moments. What if she’d bore my child — a beautiful, mixture of her bronze beauty and my ivory tone? Just thinking about the possibilities made it even more prudent that I did whatever necessary to make things right with her. I owed her the world and more for the pain I caused.
Had my visit gone the way I wanted it to? No. I knew from the start Clara would be a tough cookie to crumble. She was no nonsense, as she should’ve been. Stepping back into her world would take time and determination, and as a retired man of means I definitely had both.
I left shortly after breakfast feeling hopeful. I’d managed to make her crack one small smile by calling her Joanie, a pet name I had given her back in college. I always said she looked like a black version of the star on Happy Days, so I’d call her Joanie and she would instantly smile.
Her wonderful smile was still imprinted in my mind that evening. I sat in my home office thinking of ways to make that pretty smile happen again, until Tammy walked and interrupted my reverie.
“John?” she said in a low, sultry voice.
“What do you need, Tammy?” I asked without looking up.
“I need you, John.”
Tammy’s attempt at sounding ultra-sexy caused me to look in her direction. She was wearing a long, red gown with feathers around the collar and arms. Her red hair was straight and flowing down her shoulders and back. She had on a fair amount of makeup and bright red lipstick.
Her Botox-injected rosy cheeks rose into a phony looking smile, and she began unbuttoning her gown one button at a time. She attempted to seduce me with her eyes as each button popped open. When she reached the last button, she allowed the gown to slip down her body and to the floor. Underneath was a skimpy negligee, one like I’d never seen Tammy wear before.
Her body was that of an aged athlete, toned and shapely. There were also faint markings of the plastic surgeries Tammy had done to maintain the firmness in areas that would be otherwise sagging. If I said she wasn’t beautiful standing there in her negligee, it would have been a lie.
“Tammy, you got yourself all dolled up for bed, I see. I was just about to head to bed too,” I said, once I shook my attention from her body.
“I was hoping you could come up and sleep with me tonight. It’s been over a year since we slept together. What do you say?” she asked as she played with the fabric around the neck of her nightie.
“With our divorce impending, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I gave her a nod, hoping she would understand I wasn’t interested in satisfying her sudden need to have me in our old bedroom.
“We need to reconnect on a deeper level, John. It’s been a while since we’ve done that, and I think the lack of passion is what’s driving you away,” she said.
“Is that what you think?”
“Let me show you what I think,” Tammy said as she began to sashay toward my desk. Her hand traveled to her rotund breasts and she began to rub the fabric above her round nipple. Her pouty lips puckered as she waited for my reaction.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, “That definitely won’t be happening tonight, Tammy.”
“Oh, stop being a prude, John,” she said with a hand on her hip.
It was almost laughable that the same woman who seemingly invented the word prude was calling me one.
“Go to your bedroom, Tammy.”
