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Chapter 17
Essex
She’s not back.It’s two o’clock and Quintessa isn’t here. My eyes navigate through the sea of people who’ve flooded my backyard, but my wife is not in attendance. How am I supposed to concentrate and welcome these employees to the party when my wife isn’t here? Where is she? Is she stuck in traffic? Is she hurt? Standing in front of the gathering workers, I check my cell, but there are no voicemails or messages from her.
I take a cordless microphone and say, “Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to this year’s celebration. Collectively, you represent the best of DePaul & Company. You’re all recognized in the industry as the best of the best and you should be proud of that. It may not be said every day, and I may expect more than you can give at times, but I never doubt your ability to deliver. You’re all brilliant and talented. Without you, DePaul & Company won’t be what it is today. With that being said, I’m giving five-hundred-dollar summer bonuses across the board. It’ll be in your next paycheck.”
A thunderous applause erupts from the nearly two-hundred people who RSVP’d outside. As it slowly fades, I say, “The pools are open, the beach is open, the house is open except for upstairs. There’s food and drinks everywhere so—”
I pause when I see Quintessa walking into the backyard – the cynosure of all eyes. She’s rocking those wedding day curls, wearing a red dress that hugs her curves tighter than the grip I had on them last night. The dress reminds me of the one she wore all those years ago to prom. I swallow the lump in my throat and try to tear my eyes away from her so the others – her direct coworkers mainly – don’t know how this woman has taken the words out of my mouth and left me speechless. I compose myself, find words again and finish my statement and say, “Have a good time, enjoy yourselves and remember, I won’t be this nice come Monday morning.”
“Oh, we already know that,” I hear someone shout from the crowd before people erupt in laughter. I wish I knew who said it so I can fire them, but I’m too distracted to pursue it. Quintessa’s here, and she owes me an explanation.
I make my way out of the spotlight and slide on a pair of metal Aviators so no one notices my eyes following Quintessa’s every move as she weaves her way through the crowd. She finds the people in her department, hugs the Valentine girl and chats it up with Mrs. Wilburn.
I walk in her direction, but Mrs. May stops me, wanting to talk business.
I tell her, “You know the rules—no business talk today, Mrs. May. Save it for the office, and for goodness’ sake, go have a drink and live a little.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, then salutes me – has me wondering how many drinks she’s had already.
Wearing a yellow skirt suit covered in sequins, looking like an old church lady, Mrs. Musk dances her way over to me with her husband in tow like they’re trying to form a Conga line, telling me how much fun she’s having. Her husband raises his champagne glass and says, “Salut.” He did the exact same thing last year.
I flash a half smirk, if there were ever such a thing, and continue walking. The DJ has instrumental Hip Hop blaring through the speakers. The vibes are right. I smell food and liquor in the air. People look like they’re having a good time. The party is exceeding my expectations. The only downside is I’m married to this beautiful woman who doesn’t want anyone to know we’re married. A woman who tempts me in every way. A woman who’s trying her hardest not to make eye contact with me.
My fingers twitch at the nerve of her. I have to make sacrifices for this woman. I had to take off my ring to appease her. I’m certain she’s not wearing the two-hundred-thousand-dollar diamond I bought for her. Upon getting closer, I can see that she’s not.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” I say, greeting them, removing my sunglasses.
They all freeze. Ms. Wellinski, Mrs. Wilburn, Ms. Valentine and my baby. Quintessa doesn’t want to make eye contact with me, but if she thinks she’ll avoid me for the duration of this event, she’s sorely mistaken.
“I said, good afternoon, ladies.”
“Oh, hi, Mr. DePaul,” Mrs. Wilburn says.
“Mrs. Wilburn—how are you?”
“Doing well. What about yourself?”
“I’ve been better. Ms. Valentine, are you enjoying yourself?” I inquire.
“Oh…” she says, barely looking at me as if I’m a light that’s too bright for her eyes. “Are you—are you talking to me?”
“Is there another Ms. Valentine around?”
“Uh…right.” She grins nervously, then says, “Good morning…I mean evening.”
“Afternoon,” I say, correcting her after she failed to correct herself.
“Oh. Right. Afternoon.”
“Come on, Zahara,” Mauve says. “Let’s get you another drink, girl.” She pulls her over near the bar and now it’s just Mrs. Wilburn and Quintessa standing here with me.
Since I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Wilburn, my eyes land on Quintessa. I say, “Good afternoon, Ms. Bailey.”
Ms. Bailey…
It displeases me to call her by her maiden name while knowing it’s not her name anymore. It messes with my mind and everything I believe in. I shouldn’t have to pretend we’re not more than what we are when I was embedded so deeply inside her body last night, I know how her circulatory system functions.
