Authors: Rolonda Watts
Destiny Lingers (6 page)
“Don’t worry,” Kat reassures me. “We’re on the way. See you there.”
T
he bells jingle as I slip into the big glass doors of Hurlihey’s famous Irish pub. There is the familiar and warm sound of laughter and gaiety inside this happy hub, known as the network watering hole. We always have a grand time here, with reporters, anchors, producers, camera crews, and friends often meeting to hobnob, talk shit, and blow off some of the steam of our stressful days covering city streets full of death, destruction, crime, and politics. I guess today’s topics will also include my shaky marriage after fears and suspicions about Garrett and Eve.
Patrick O’Malley, the burly Irish bartender, greets me with his lilting Irish brogue and his big, broad smile. Patrick remembers everybody’s drink. Today is no different.
“There’s my martini girl!” he bellows as I walk through the pub door. “This one’s on me, muh lady. I been watching you out there wit’ that hostage thing. That’s some kinda story they got you on.”
“Yeah, Pat, they’re wearing me out,” I say as I slip up to the bar. “But nice to finally have a good lead story for a change.”
“Well, take a load off, girlie.” Patrick smiles as he flips up a martini glass by the stem between his thick index finger and thumb. He plops the glass on the bar in front of me and pours in ice-cold water to the brim, giving the glass a nice chill. Then Patrick proceeds to conjure up my spirits. Like an artist in his studio, Patrick twirls a couple of bottles and then dips them upside down, pouring their prized liquids into the mouth of a silver shaker—just a splash of vermouth from one and quite a generous pour of fine vodka from the other. He grabs the shaker like a man on a mission and rattles it back and forth like a maraca. Patrick dumps the icy water out of the martini glass and then slowly opens the top of the shaker and gently pours out the liquid gold into my open glass. My mouth waters, as I cannot wait to kick off my long weekend by savoring the first sip.
Patrick proudly smiles as he pours out the last drop. He then carefully places my perfect martini in front of me with a flourish.
I giggle.
“Extra cold, extra dry, extra olives—just like my girlie-girl likes ’em, right?” Patrick winks my way.
I laugh, shaking my head in awe. “You know me, Paddy. You really know me.” I am happy to feel at home.
“
That’s
my girl,” Patrick says as he slaps his big hand on the oak bar. “I’ll have Marty grab you a table.”
“Thanks, Pat,” I say and take my long-awaited first sip of my martini. It is just what the doctor ordered. The icy vodka goes down smoothly, like liquid air. My throat feels its blossoming warmth move down to my chest as I feel a relaxing calm melt all over me.
At last …
“Right this way, sweetheart.” I turn from the bar and see Marty, the skinny maître d´’s smiling face. “Got your favorite table waiting. Let me carry that martini for you.”
I almost don’t want to let it go, but I hand over my delicious martini to Marty anyway. I figure it looks more ladylike for him to carry my drink through the crowded restaurant on his tray than for me to spill my way across the floor. As we pass by the happy-hour food bar, I take advantage of my free hands and grab some free treats. I fill up a small saucer with meatballs and fried chicken drumettes. These freebies are sure to be my dinner tonight, so I gladly help myself.
I make my way to the table, and Marty pulls out my chair.
“Thanks, Marty,” I say as I juggle my happy meal and slip him a five.
“Hey …” Marty twists his mouth to the side in deep confidence. “You ain’t gotta do that there, ya know.”
“I know, Marty,” I reply. “I just appreciate you for always taking good care of me.”
Marty winks, swiftly pockets the bill, and then dashes off to take care of the next Hurlihey’s regular.
I take another long sip of my martini and a deep breath. I watch the crowd. I wonder how many men in this bar are tonight being unfaithful to their wives.
The doorbell jingles again and by the combustion, chatter, and burst of energy, I can tell—my girls have arrived. I wave my hand to catch their attention.
“There she is!” spurts Hope. She and Kat bustle over to the table.
“Hey, girl, are you okay? What in the world happened up there in Harlem? How close were you when they shot him?” My girls are whirling in a frenzy of concern.
“I’m okay, I’m okay, really,” I assure them. “I just feel so sorry for Thomas and his family. I just—”
“Oh, so you know this fool on a first-name basis? Seriously? Girl, you meet some strange people on your job!” Kat shakes her head. Like she doesn’t meet strange people on her job as an event planner for a vodka company.
“Well, I know Garrett must have been worried,” Hope surmises as she takes a quick sip of my martini. “How’s he handling his cowgirl of a wife these days?”
I think for a second. I can’t even remember the last time I actually saw Garrett. We’re so come-and-go, fly-by-in-the-night these days.
“To tell you the truth, I really don’t know what Garrett is thinking – whether he’s worried about me or not. If he is, he hasn’t said anything to me. He was happy my story made the papers, though.”
“Always after ‘the big story’—just like you.” Kat rolls her eyes. “But do you guys ever see each other? I mean, I know you work different shifts and all, but I never hear about you doing anything special on the weekends or holidays like you used to.”
“Well, you know how Garrett got bitten by that golf bug. He got those new clubs, and he can’t wait to hit those greens every Saturday morning. I figure it’s not much to ask after he’s worked the graveyard shift all week.”
“I don’t know how y’all do it,” says Hope. “Garrett’s off covering war stories in the middle of the night, and you’re up in some abandoned building in Harlem getting shot at in the middle of the day. Y’all need to be on prime time, honey.”
Marty swoops up to the table and smiles.
“Two more—same way,” I order.
“Coming right up!” Marty scurries back into the crowd.
“So now what? You gonna be okay?” Hope looks worried. “I mean, what you just went through is more than a notion, honey.”
“Why does everybody keep asking me if I’m okay?” I snap.
“Because you don’t look okay, that’s why!” Kat cuts to the chase. “You look like a rabbit under the ax. You seem scattered, and you are very much on edge these days, my dear.”
“Jesus.” I cover my face with my hands. “Am I that bad?”
“You’ve looked a lot better, D.” Hope sympathetically rubs my back. “And who can blame you. Look what you’ve been through.”
“You look a hot mess!” Kat quips. “You sure everything’s okay with you—I mean, you and Garrett? It’s more than that hostage story, girlfriend. You’ve been a bit frazzled for a while now.”
“Yes … I mean, no … I mean …” I have never been able to lie to my best friends.
“What?” Kat and Hope ask in unison.
“Okay.” I blow out a deep breath. I have to talk to someone about this. Get it off my chest. Who else can I confide in but my best girlfriends? “Well, I have this strange feeling … that … well, I’m not sure … but I swear—”
“Here ya go, ladies—two martinis, extra cold, extra dry, extra olives.”
“Go on; drink up,” I urge them. “You’re gonna need it for this one.”
Kat and Hope look at each other and then throw a quizzical look back at me. As if on cue, they both sip their martinis at the same time.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” Kat commands. “What’s going on?”
I look at my two best friends sitting across from me, with the look in their eyes of care, concern, and willingness to kick somebody’s ass if they have to. It breaks my heart to have to tell them something so repulsive as ‘I have this feeling our friend Eve is fucking Garrett.’ How do I tell them
that
? I stare into my half-empty martini glass and begin to play with the olive.
Kat grabs my hands and squeezes them. “Girlfriend, are you sick or something? You can tell us anything.”
I chuckle. “No. … Heartsick, maybe … but—”
“Oh my God, I thought I’d never get here!” We are interrupted by a shrill and breathless voice. I look up, and there stands Eve, all aglow in a red formfitting sleeveless dress. “Traffic was a mess! Hey, girls!” She plops down into the fourth chair, her breasts bulging with every deep breath she takes, as she tosses her newly done and bouncy red curls back and forth, rattling on and on as she explains how she left Fritz’s early, with all good intentions to get here on time, but … well … you know that New York traffic! Then Eve oozes what I fear is feigned concern. “And I was
so
worried about you all day, Destiny! Are you okay?”
There’s that damn question again. I really want to answer, “Hell no, bitch. As a matter of fact, I’m not okay, because I think you’re fucking my husband! My life is feeling like shit right now, thanks to you and that fucking red hair of yours!” But I decide instead to maintain my composure, as Hurlihey’s—and in front of my colleagues and friends—is not the place for a girl-fight over a man, not even if it’s over my husband with a woman I thought was my best friend.
“Glad you made it,” I struggle to say.
“Oh,
honey.”
Eve scoots her high-heeled way around the table to the seat next to me, leans over, wraps her arms around me, and squeezes my neck. She smells of Chanel No. 5. “You could have been killed! We are so glad you’re okay.” Eve pats my back. It seems a bit much, coming from her. Was she really that worried? Maybe she really wanted me dead. “So what did I miss?” Eve darts a look at each of us.
“We were just supporting Dee, that’s all,” says Kat. “Girl, where has your ass been, all dressed up in scarlet?”
“Oh, you know.” Eve tosses her long red hair over her shoulder. “Just shopping and stuff. I am
so
in love with the new Missouni resort collection I had to stop by for a quick peek.”
Kat rolls her eyes. “You’re in love with some new designer collection every year, girl.”
“Gotta keep it lookin’ good for my man!” Eve responds with a sly smile. I wonder which man she’s talking about as I scope her shiny red head, missing at least three long hairs left in my home—one in my bed.
“So, how is that Fritz?” Hope asks.
“He’s fine. Got big plans for me this weekend. Gon’ get some of that good stuff, and I don’t mean Dolce and Gabbana this time!” Eve leans back with a lusty laugh.
“Yeah, I could use some of that good stuff too,” says Hope. “I think Dan and I are staying close to home. What about you, Kat? What—or should I say, who—are you doing?”
We all laugh as Kat winds up to bat.
“
Well
, since you asked … I’mma be up under this fine dreadlocked French man. Ain’t that some shit—a French man with dreadlocks. Mm-mm-mm.”
These special moments between us girls have always brought us closer together. I adore these special moments, and I feel like a real shit, believing that one of us wants to destroy all of this and so much more. How can I believe that one of us would try to annihilate the other’s marriage by bedding her husband? Is that not the worst betrayal?
Dear God, please let me be wrong.
“So what are you and Garrett up to this weekend?” Eve asks me. “Staying home? Is Garrett playing golf, as usual?”
“Uh … well, I think …” I stumble. “I’d like to get out of town—get away, to tell you the truth.”
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Kat slams her hand down on the table as if marking a done deal. “That’s exactly what you two need to do.”
“Out of town?
This
weekend? You and Garrett?” Eve is looking at me with the most incredulous look on her face. “When did you guys decide that?”
“Well, we … ugh … you know, I really need to get home. Garrett’ll be up soon, and I want us to start our weekend.” I start to gather my things.
“Yeah, girl, get home to your man,” Kat urges. “And please get some rest this weekend. Chill. Do something nice for yourself. Get out of town. You and Garrett go someplace nice.”
“Yeah,” Eve chimes in. “But maybe you should take some time just for yourself—you know, go away all by yourself for some—what is it they call it? Oh—some ‘me’ time.”
“Uh-huh,” I respond as I keep gathering my belongings and my wits about me, feeling as if I am about to suffocate in one of my favorite places with someone who used to be one of my favorite friends.
Could Eve really be my newfound foe? Could my husband really be fucking my best friend? I take one last look at her, dead in the eye. I throw back the last gulp of my now-warm martini and then turn and flee Hurlihey’s as if my hair is on fire.
I
slip the key into the door of my building and, even from the front atrium, can hear Garrett talking loudly on the phone in our apartment on the second floor. I can tell that he is agitated because I can also hear him pacing back and forth on our squeaky wooden floors. He is in a heated conversation, and I hope it’s not with work. I pray he doesn’t have to go back to the newsroom and spoil the time we have to be together this Memorial Day weekend. I am counting on this holiday to have that long talk with Garrett in hopes of saving our marriage. This long holiday weekend comes just in time. For two short hours a day, Garrett and I see each other between jobs, and when we do, it’s only in passing, heading in different directions, living different lives.
“I’m not saying I don’t want to come down there, I’m just sayin’ I had other plans for this weekend, and she may not want to go anyway. Oh, don’t put this on me, Barbara!”
Oh, no. Garrett is not loud-talking a fellow producer; he is loud-talking my mother—
again.
I pick up my pace in hope of stopping what could quickly turn into World War III.
“
What?”
I hear Garrett exclaim. “Oh,
don’t
go there, Barbara!”
I bang on the apartment door, hoping to interrupt this long-distance battle between Harlem and North Carolina.
“Hold on a minute, Barbara—
just hold on!”
Garrett shouts, and I hear him storm over to the door. He swings it open with such an angry force that I feel a cool breeze. I stand in the doorway, frozen.
“Hey, baby.” He blows a deep sigh of exhaustion as he greets me, shaking his head. “It’s your
mother.
That witch is
c
razy
!”
I grab the phone from Garrett and cover the receiver in my chest.
“Don’t call my mother a crazy witch!” I snap, even though I know how difficult she can be. In fact, both she and Garrett can be difficult, stubborn, and proud.
Garrett throws his hand in surrender to me, and still shaking his head in disgust, he storms off to the bedroom.
I take a deep breath. “Mother?” I speak into the phone.
“You tell that son of a bitch you married to go to hell!” Mother barks.
“Mother, what’s going on?”
All I hear is her heavy breathing on the other end of the phone. I wait as she tries to compose herself.
“We are worried sick about you, and for some reason that idiot husband of yours just can’t see that. Does he have one bit of concern for you? It could have been
you
who took that bullet! We want you to come home, DeeDee!”
It isn’t often I hear such desperation in my mother’s voice. I can tell she and the rest of my family are truly worried. There’s nothing more my mother wants to see than my winning that Emmy or going network one day so she has even more to brag about in her social circles—but not if my life is threatened in the process.
I also know deep in my soul that there is no place else I’d rather be right now than my beloved Topsail Island. I am emotionally shot, my marriage is hanging on a loose hinge, and I miss my aunt Joy and our special time at the beach together more than I ever realized. I need my family right now.
“We’ll catch the first thing out tomorrow morning,” I say to Mother.
“Good.” Mother has rested her case, finally satisfied. “Your father and I are driving down to the beach house to meet Aunt Joy tonight. She’ll be thrilled to hear that you are finally coming home. I’d beg you to leave that jackass you married in New York and just come yourself, if Joy hadn’t insisted the whole family be together so much. She is getting old, Dee. She has this urgency about everything.”
“Well, you know how she is about keeping us all together,” I reply. “She just wants us to be one big happy family.”
“We all want that, as difficult as it is—”
“Yes, Mother, I know—
with that man I mar
ried.”
“Well, yes.
You
said it.”
“Good-bye, Mother. See you in the morning.”
“Get in by brunch time,” she adds. “I’m cooking salmon croquettes.”
“Mother, you know Garrett doesn’t like croquettes.”
“Yes,” she replies. “I know.”
I hear the click of her receiver and then turn to see that Garrett has been listening to the conversation at the bedroom door. He does not look happy.
“Did you just tell your mother that we are going to Topsail Island tomorrow morning?”
“Yes. I did,” I confess. “I really want us to be there with the family. They sound worried about me. Plus, believe it or not, Garrett, Grossman actually gave me the time off. I need it, baby. We both do.”
“How could you make the decision without talking to me first, Destiny? Jeez! I promised the guys I’d play golf with them tomorrow, and then I thought we could figure out something to do.”
“
Figure out something to do
?” He’s so insensitive tonight. “Well, I just did, Garrett. Golf can wait. This is a special time—a whole long weekend—for us, for our family. And it’s been forever since we’ve been to Topsail.”
“How the hell is this weekend going to be ‘for us’ with your whole family down there?”
“Garrett—”
“I’m serious, Dee. Your mother hates me. Your father barely speaks to me. Your aunt Joy’s okay, but—”
“But what, Garrett? What now? What’s wrong with Aunt Joy?”
“Well, you know how she’s all into you, like you’re the baby girl she never had or something.”
“And? Come on, Garrett. Aunt Joy practically raised me. She was there for me when my dad was struggling to become a doctor and my mother was more interested in becoming a socialite than a mother. As a child, Aunt Joy was all I had, the only one who understood me and made me feel important, encouraged, and loved. She was my mother figure. I spent so many wonderful summers with her on Topsail. I have to admit—I miss her very much. I didn’t realize how much until now.”
“Well, you guys are just into that whole beach scene, and you know I’m from the Midwest, Destiny. I’m not into all that sand and water and shit. We didn’t have all that craziness in Ohio.”
“So … what? You feel left out? You can’t find something to do to be happy? C’mon, Garrett. Try something new, just for the sake of it? Okay?”
“Naw, I just hate going down there,” Garrett snaps. He’s done with this conversation.
“Baby,” I say, walking over to Garrett. I wrap my arms around his waist, nestling my head under his chin. “Please try to understand. I need this. We need this. Think of it as a time for us away from it all—time out for our marriage.”
Garrett stiffens. “Wh-what’s wrong with our marriage?” He frowns down at me.
“Honey, I just think we need time together, that’s all. I’m really worried about this distance I’ve been feeling between us.”
“
Distance
?” Garrett looks surprised and shocked by my admission. “What
dist
ance
?”
“Sometimes I wonder if you still love me, Garrett.”
Garrett’s face turns red. He runs his big hand over the top of his forehead and back over his hair. He seems to be searching, either for words, an excuse, or an exit.
“Do you love me, Garrett?” I feel at this point I have nothing to lose, and I don’t want to lose my marriage.
“Do I love you? What are you talking about, Destiny? You’re my
wife
.”
“Yes, but something’s happened to us, Garrett; something has changed. Haven’t you felt it too?”
Garrett stands there looking at me with a blank stare. He blinks. We are both exhausted. Two award-winning journalists, at a loss for words.
Finally, I ask, “Are you having an affair, Garrett?” My heart can’t wait any longer.
“Wh-what? An affair? Of course not!” Garrett looks incensed.
“Tell me the truth, Garrett.” I hold him tighter, looking up into his eyes. “Please tell me the truth. You can be honest with me. Is there someone else?”
“Destiny, look …” Garrett calms his voice, takes a step back, and places his big hands on my shoulders. “Baby, you have been through a lot of stress in the past couple of days. You’re under a lot right now, and it’s got you imagining things. Plus, you’ve been drinking a little bit there, haven’t you?” Garrett tickles his finger underneath my chin. I cannot deny martinis at Hurlihey’s, but I also cannot deny those three red hairs in our private living space either.
“Yes, but Garrett—”
“Hey, hey, hey! Sh-h-h-h. I got you, baby.” Garrett pulls my body back into his. “I will take you home, if that’s what you want. Now, c’mon, go pack your bags, pretty girl, and I’ll call about our reservations to Topsail.”
“Oh, Garrett, really? Really?”
Garrett nods.
“Oh, honey, thank you—thank you so much!” I gush, knowing how hard this is for him. “I really appreciate it. I really do.”
“Yeah, baby, don’t worry about it. I’ll do it if it makes you happy.” Then Garrett looks deeply into my eyes. “I do love you very much, Destiny. I hope you know that. You just a little crazy right now, that’s all. My baby’s been through a lot.”
“I love you too, Garrett,” I say, and even with so much swirling doubt, I really mean it.
Garrett gently kisses me on my forehead, my eyelids, my temples, and my cheeks. He caresses my hair and begins to press his strong, hard body against mine. He becomes aroused, his muscular thigh rubbing in between mine. He dives his hot tongue into my mouth, and I am so hungry for my husband’s kiss that I nearly swallow it. I give up the fighting and the questions and surrender myself to him as we make our way to our bed. Thrashing back and forth, rolling over once neatly folded laundry, we make wild love. I am so starved for everything to be right between us that I squeeze him as tightly as I can—as tightly as I am squeezing my eyes shut right now, trying to hold back the tears and the traumatic truth I feel. I desperately try to suffocate the vision of that long strand of mysterious red hair stretched across my husband’s pillow, right here in our bed, where we are fucking like never before.