The Side Effects of You (9 page)

Sitting in my living room, I nervously waited for Samantha to call me back. I wanted to look glamorous, and I hoped Andrea would agree to make me over. Seconds later, my phone finally rang. It was Sam, and I was too happy with the news. “She'll do it? That's great!” I yelled.

“Yes, but you have to be there by two,” Sam said.

My smile faded. “Two? I can't be there by two. I don't get off until two.”

“Well, I don't want to call and ask her to push it ahead, Josie. She's already doing us both a huge favor.”

“I know, but Angelica doesn't come in from school until after three, and you know Ana's face is horrible. And even if it wasn't, you know she never helps me out.”

“Well, you have to make a decision, sweetheart. I don't want to call her and ask her to rearrange her schedule.”

“I know. Give me a moment. I'll call and see if my employee can come in one hour early. That way, Angelica can relieve her at nine.”

“Okay. Check and call me back.”

“Okay. I'll call you back.”

I hung up and texted Lacey, my front desk girl, and a couple minutes later, she replied that she would come in early. With that issue solved, I called Sam back and confirmed the location of the salon. I headed to my closet to find something to wear. I was sorely out of touch with the dating scene and the latest fashions. I hadn't dated in a long time, so I wasn't sure which regular clothes of mine would fit. I wore work attire most of the time and loungewear when I was at home. Since I had no social life, I had no fancy clothes. Something had to change. I wanted to join the land of the living, and Jayden was just a start.

“What are you doing, Mom?” Ana asked. I didn't know she had been standing in my bedroom doorway.

“Looking for something decent to wear for my date tonight.”

“No way. You have a date? With who?”

“A guy,” I answered. I didn't want her to know he was a hotel guest. I had been after her constantly to stay away from our male visitors.

“I gathered that much, Ma. I mean, I never pictured you to be a lesbian.”

“True. I'm not a lesbian. He is a guy I met at Sammie's.” I shouldn't have lied, but I was trying to set an example.

“So, does Dad know you have a date?”

“Ana, grow up. You know that your father and I are done. I told him the next time he went back to prison would be the last time he could call me his wife. We are divorced, so I can date.”

“But you're still married.” She was still in denial.

I blew out a loud breath. I couldn't believe she'd bring up her father right now.
Un-freaking-believable.
“Ana, for the last time, we are
divorced
. Your father is not my husband. Why are you in my room?”

“Fine. I'm going to e-mail him and let him know you're dating now.”

“You can do what you will.” Ana had been the apple of my eye once, but she had become the thorn in my side.

“Then I will,” she said smartly.

“You know what, Ana? Tell him. Tell your father that I'm a whore, a man-eater, or whatever you like. The bottom line is he is in prison. Your father couldn't be a law-abiding citizen. He can't touch me from prison, so go ahead. Run and e-mail him.” She looked down, and I continued. “Yes, that's right, Princess Ana. My face has taken a beating worse than the one yours is wearing now, so run. Go e-mail him. Tell him what you want. You and your father have sucked every ounce of joy out of my life, and I can't do you or him anymore. So tell him what you like! I just want to be done with you both. You two have done everything to destroy me, and I'm tired of you both!” I yelled.

She stood there, arms folded, and I could feel she wanted to say something. I knew this would be the moment when she actually cursed me out or said she hated me, and I was ready to give her another ass whipping and show her to the door. No more. I couldn't take another moment of her. I wanted her out of my hair.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

I blinked. “Qué?” I knew I didn't hear her right.

“
Lo siento, mami
,” she repeated in Spanish. “I'll help you find something really pretty to wear tonight, because a lot of your stuff is ugly. I have a ton of clothes.”

I burst into laughter. “Ana, why are you so hard on me? Why can't you just go with the flow and not be my difficult child?”

“Because I'm more like him. I don't mean to hurt you.” She looked at me, and her eyes welled up. I hated to see my baby's face swollen and bruised. I wanted to go and get whoever had done this to her.

“You're like me too. You just have to stop rejecting your good nature. I know you are a sweet girl, but it's like you want this tough, bad girl image. And you want to hate me, as if I took your dad away or ran him off. I didn't make him into who he is, and I certainly didn't raise you to be like this, Ana. You didn't learn this irrational behavior from me. I never showed you this type of life.”

“Mami, papi was a well-known hood thug. I can't be soft. I can't act like you. I want respect.”

“Oh, Ana, you can. You are a lady. You are not him. Respect and fear are two different things. You play tough and act like a hoodlum, and those who tolerate you fear you. They do not respect you. Respect starts when you respect yourself. You can act like a lady, Ana.”

“I try not to be him, but I am, and I miss him so much,” she said, and then she began to cry. I hadn't seen her cry in ages.

“Come here, baby. I miss him too, and I can't imagine how you feel as his daughter, but your father made his own choices, and you have to accept things for what they are. I didn't even graduate high school, because I was running with and after your daddy. And then you came along. Once you came, I wanted more for my life, Ana. Don't spiral into a life of craziness like him. You have a chance. You have a bright future.”

“I just don't know how else to be.”

“Just start being you.”

The front desk bell sounded suddenly. I didn't want to stop this conversation with my daughter, but duty called.

“I'll be right back.”

She nodded, and I went to take care of the person at the desk. It was a delivery guy. By the time I got back inside the apartment, Ana had put together a fabulous outfit for me, but it was a bit too sexy for my taste.

“Oh, Ana, I don't know about this sexy getup. I mean, I'm too old for clothes like this. This dress is so short.”

“Ma, come on. You have beautiful legs, a plump ass, I mean bottom, and you are going to turn heads.”

“I'm sure, but maybe not the kinda heads I wanna turn.”

“Don't worry. You are going to look sexy.”

Letting down my guard, I agreed to try on the outfit. “You're right. Thank you, baby.”

“No problem.” She headed for the door, then turned back to look at me. “One more thing.”

“What is it?”

“I do want you to be happy. I know you need someone, so I hope you have a great date.”

I smiled. “Thanks, baby.”

“You're welcome.” She exited my bedroom, and I examined the outfit. It was a bit much, but Ana was trendy, and I wanted to look good.

Just then the bell sounded again, and I rushed back to the front.

All I had to do was wait until one o'clock to go get my makeover. I was too excited.

As I headed to the salon, I thought about the day before, and I wanted to vomit again.

That day, I had sat and looked around the restaurant, wondering what was keeping Helen. I hated to be too early, and being early when your party was late sucked. I looked around some more. Everyone was dressed in their Sunday best. My thoughts shifted to Quentin. I didn't know why, but I thought about us having brunch after church and going home to change into some comfortable lounge clothes and cooking something fabulous together for dinner. I imagined us cooking while sipping on wine and listening to some neo-soul. And after eating and winding down with a movie or prime-time television, we would turn in and make love.

Quentin would have been the fun husband who always made me laugh. He'd remember anniversaries, birthdays, and he'd give me “just because” gifts.

I remembered back when he earned his first paycheck from the Taco Bell in the mall. He took me to Red Lobster. Back then, on a minimum-wage budget, that was considered fancy. That was the first night I let him inside of my body.

Even though I talked to boys and had so-called boyfriends, I never could trust them and would only go to second base. A little kissing, fondling, grinding, but never would I take off my clothes for another. But Quentin was different. I was in love with him instantly, and when I gave it to him, he and I became closer. We acted like a married couple. Everyone knew how much we were in love. My mother was upset when we moved in together, but my father convinced her to allow me to love whomever I wanted to love. Plus, I knew he knew that I'd be with Quentin no matter what, even if it meant living in a cardboard box. He quickly jumped in and offered us one of his rental units.

“Mother Young,” a voice said. It snapped me out of my deep thoughts.

“Sister Helen, please sit. And please call me Andrea.”

She sat and put her handbag on the only empty chair. My purse had already made its home on the other.

“So, to what do I owe this meeting?” I asked, jumping right in.

“I need a drink first,” she said. Her hands were shaking. I could tell she was nervous about our meeting.

“Sure. Take your time.”

This had to be bad. I just knew she was pregnant, and I wondered how I was going to receive the information. I knew my husband might have been creeping, but with his best friend's wife? That was low. I mentally braced myself for the impact.

The server came over, and we both put our drink orders in.

“Would you like a menu?” the server asked.

I spoke first. “No. Just the drink.”

“Yes, only the drink, and make it a double,” Helen said.

I looked at her closely. She looked as if she hadn't slept. Relieved that a pregnancy probably was not her news, since she'd ordered a double, I went from ten to eight. An affair wouldn't be a surprise, but if it was with Franklin's wife, it was a huge deal.

She scanned the room and rubbed her hands together. I didn't push. I just waited for our drinks. When the server sat them in front of us, Helen downed hers immediately and then asked the server for another. We didn't talk until after the third round.

“Listen, Sister Helen, apparently, this is some heavy news, so out with it. Are you and Jeremiah having an affair?” I went for the truth. No more stalling.

She burst into laughter. She laughed hysterically, and people turned to look. Then her laughter turned into a silent cry.

“Sister Helen?”

“Andrea, I wish I had come here to tell you that it is me who is sleeping with your husband, but it's not me.”

I frowned. “Not you?” I wondered if Franklin knew something about another woman and had let it slip to his wife. “Has Franklin told you something about my husband? Come on, Sister Helen. Enough with the hesitation. Tell me what's going on. Tell me why we are here,” I demanded.

“Pastor Young isn't interest in me, or in any other woman at the church, as a matter of fact.” She looked up and blinked, and a couple of tears fell.

“Helen, what are you saying? Tell me!”

“He is sleeping with my husband,” she blurted.

The room suddenly stood still. I didn't hear any sounds anymore, just a dead silence. I batted my eyes several times, and then I laughed. I laughed harder than she had. That was absurd. Jeremiah was unaffectionate and was even an asshole on occasion, but gay? Hell to the naw! That was the funniest thing I had ever heard in my life.

“It's not a joke,” she sneered.

“It is. My husband is not gay. Jeremiah is a homophobe. And he preaches against homosexuality constantly. No way. You are mistaken, sweetie.” I laughed again.

“I have proof,” she whispered.

I stopped laughing. “Come again?”

“I have proof.”

Oh, my Jesus.
“What kind of proof?”

“I recorded them.” Huge teardrops settled in her eyes, and I knew she wasn't pulling my leg.

“Okay. Let's see.”

She reached for her handbag and pulled out her phone.

“I came home from work one day early, and I saw Pastor Young's SUV in my drive. That day, I had a throbbing headache, and I just wanted an aspirin and my bed. When I walked in, the house was quiet, like a funny quiet. I expected to see Pastor and Franklin in the family room or the kitchen, you know, but there was no one there. I crept up to Franklin's office door, and I heard weird moaning noises, and I thought, No. It can't be.

“The door was cracked open, not all the way closed, so I peeked in. When I saw them, my jaw dropped and my feet froze in place. I wanted to burst in and confront them both, but your husband is a powerful man and a pillar of the community. I stepped away, went for my phone, and I recorded them.” She slid her phone across to me. “Just hit PLAY.”

Trembling, I hit the button. There they were. Franklin was bent over at his desk, and my husband was fucking him like he was a female. Mortified, disgusted, and shocked, I couldn't stop watching. It was like I had to watch it longer to believe it. Finally, I had had enough, and I pressed
STOP
. I couldn't cry, I couldn't scream, and I couldn't cuss. I just handed her back her phone, reached for my purse, grabbed two twenties out of my wallet, put them on the table, and ran out of the restaurant.

She ran out behind me. “Andrea, please! What do we do?”

I held my car door handle and turned to her, my teeth clenched. “I can't tell you what to do, but I'm going to kill my husband.”

With that, I got into my car and drove toward home. About a mile away from the house, I pulled off the road and had a grown-up tantrum. I sobbed, cussed, banged the steering wheel, and asked God to help me. How had I married a so-called man of God who was fucking men? I was so disgusted, I got out and vomited on the side of the road.

My chest was tight, and I knew I had to calm down, before I had a heart attack, a seizure, or a stroke. I didn't feel like myself, and I didn't know who to call or where to go. I was too ashamed to call anyone close to me and share that information, so I called Quentin.

“Andrea, hey.”

“Quentin, I'm on Fifty-Fifth and Stony,” I cried. “Please come and get me. If I drive, I may crash. Please come for me.”

“What's wrong, baby? What is it?”

By then I was crying uncontrollably. “Just come, please. I need someone.”

“Don't move. I'm on my way.”

I rested my head on my arms, which were propped up on my steering wheel. About forty minutes later, he tapped on my window. I opened the car door, got out, and fell into his arms. He held me there on the street and let me sob without saying a word. He just held me tight.

“Thanks for coming,” I said, finally summoning words.

“You don't have to thank me, Andrea. Baby, what happened? Did someone die?”

“No. Can we go to your place? I can't go home.”

“Sure,” he said and helped me into the passenger seat of his car. He parked my car correctly on the street, because my back end was out, then got my purse, keys, and phone.

As we rode to his house, I couldn't stop sniffling and he held my hand. As soon as we got inside his place, I asked for a drink.

“What would you like?”

“Tequila, if you have it, and please bring the bottle.” I stepped out of my shoes and flopped down on his sofa. He came back with a bottle of Patrón and two glasses. After two shots and a few tears, I told him the entire story.

I lay in his arms until my phone rang two hours later. It was the kids. They needed to be picked up. I called Regina, Kelly's mom, and lied and said I had things going on at the church and asked if she could get the kids home for me. She agreed without question. She wasn't a churchgoer, so she didn't ask for details.

When I hung up, Quentin asked, “Are you hungry?”

“No. Not for food.”

“What are you hungry for?”

I began to unbutton my buttons.

He stopped me. “No, Andrea. We can't, not while you're like this. You're upset and hurt, and I don't want you like this. Not in this state of mind.”

“Oh, so now you don't want me?” I snapped. “Last night you were ready to fuck me.”

“Yes, last night I wanted you, but you decided not to, because of your vows.”

“Fuck my vows, Q. He is a fag, a homo. A fucking lying, cheating ...” I sobbed.

He held me. “Shhh. Baby, it's okay. This is why we can't. This is why I can't do that. You are so emotional now. Being with me isn't going to make you feel better, and I can't risk it making you feel even worse. I'm here for you, baby, and I will be with you until the end. But I want you to want me because you truly want me, not because you want to get even or lash out. I love you too much to let you go out like that.”

He'd said the word love. He'd said he loved me. I loved him too, I always had, and he was right. I was just so hurt and angry. I had to iron out my relationship with Jeremiah before dragging Quentin into my web of drama.

“You're right, and thank you for being the brains in this moment. And yes, baby, I'm hungry.”

“Well, go and freshen up. I'll take you to dinner and then back to your car.”

“Okay,” I agreed. I grabbed my purse, and he showed me to the bathroom. I got myself together and smiled. I had my way out. Not only had he cheated on me, but he'd done it with a man. I could walk away from him without feeling any guilt. I was free, and things suddenly didn't seem so grim. Then again, my husband was having an affair with a man. Who wanted the world to know that?

A moment later, I got a message alert on my phone. Sister Helen had e-mailed me the video clip from her phone. I downloaded it. I put on a fake smile, and Quentin and I went to dinner. When I got home later that evening, I was elated to see my kids. After I tucked them in, I grabbed my sleeping aid and took a bath. I had a great night's sleep, but the fact that my husband was gay brought tears to my eyes. I knew I wasn't okay.