Damn, I’m obviously being paranoid, but it’s easy to be paranoid when you’ve dated the men I have.
When I turn back to Trevor, he is grinning at me. I have his undivided attention again.
He reaches for the bottle of wine and pours the dregs into my glass. “I don’t know you very well, but I feel confident in saying that it’s your husband’s loss.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” I agree.
I see the waitress coming toward us and I finish off my wine. The evening is going better than planned and I’m not ready for it to end. I’m thinking that maybe I’ll throw caution to the wind and have a specialty coffee. I can always stay at Trevor’s place, or he at mine, and get my car in the morning.
“Have you had a chance to check out the dessert menu?” the waitress asks.
“I’ll have a Baileys coffee,” I tell her.
“Nothing for me,” Trevor says, but he’s not looking at the waitress. He’s looking past her.
Now I
know
I’m missing something. Trevor is definitely preoccupied. Either he’s suddenly not digging me, or there’s someone here that he knows.
“Trevor,” I begin slowly. “Is everything okay?”
“Sure,” he answers quickly, but his body language says he is lying. His jawline is tense, and he suddenly looks irritated.
I’m confused. “Trevor, did I say something wrong?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“You seem…upset.”
Trevor shakes his head, but his eyes wander. This time, I follow his line of sight. It lands on a well-dressed white man sitting at a table with an Asian man. The white man is staring at Trevor.
I turn back to Trevor. “Do you know that guy? Oh, God. Don’t tell me you prosecuted him in court.”
“I think we should go.” Trevor is already rising and reaching into his jacket pocket. “Where’s that waitress?”
My stomach tightens painfully. God help me, I’m in a restaurant with a madman who was charming enough to convince a jury to acquit him. I can see why—the guy who is eyeing Trevor doesn’t look as if he could hurt a fly.
But I know better than that. There is no specific look for the criminal. If only they boasted fangs and bulging eyes.
Trevor drags a hand over his face, and as I watch him, I’m really starting to freak out. Just what is this madman going to do? I envision the broadcast on the eleven o’clock news.
Local prosecutor gunned down in revenge killing.
There is relief on Trevor’s face when he spots the waitress. Without waiting a second, he marches toward her. As he does so, I slowly stand. I don’t know if this matters to killers, but I’m guessing that no sudden movement is a good plan of action.
The seconds that pass seem like hours. I want to take off, but I can’t just leave Trevor. If the situation were reversed, I wouldn’t want him leaving me.
When Trevor returns to me, I’m ready to hustle. We start for the door, heading to safety. But God help us, it’s too late. The madman jumps to his feet as we near his table. My entire body freezes as I’m seized with fright.
I do the first thing I can think of—take cover behind Trevor. What can I say? He’s not my man. I’m not ready to die for him.
“Trevor,” the white man says.
“Not now,” Trevor replies, moving past the other man.
The guy grabs Trevor’s arm, stopping him. “Look, I know what I said. But I’ve had time to think—”
“I said
not now,
” Trevor hisses.
Trevor starts walking again, and I’m right beside him.
“Please don’t walk away from me.”
Those words make me halt. The guy almost sounds…I shake my head, dismissing the thought. Clearly, this man is not some deranged criminal. He obviously knows Trevor, but I have no clue how.
Trevor breezes into the lobby. The white man follows him. I lag behind a little, observing this confusing situation.
The man reaches for Trevor’s hand. Trevor hesitates a moment before yanking his hand away.
Whoa, wait a minute. Did that just happen?
Oh, shit.
Shit!
“We’ll talk later, Brian,” Trevor says.
“When?” Brian demands. “You’ve already been avoiding me.”
Trevor meets my eyes, and I can tell he’s mortified that I’m witnessing this. Brian looks at me, too. But it’s not so much a look as it is a leer, the kind another woman gives you when she’s possessive over her man.
I snort my disgust and make my way around them.
“Lishelle, wait,” Trevor says.
“I don’t think so,” I reply.
And then I all but run out of the restaurant.
By the time I get to Claudia’s place, I’m exhausted. Winded, like I’ve run a friggin’ marathon. My heart hasn’t stopped beating since I hightailed it out of the restaurant.
I’m about to knock on her door, but it opens before I can. Although Claudia shares a place in Buckhead with Adam, she’s living with her parents until her wedding. (Don’t ask why. Something about appearances.) She has her own apartment within their mammoth house, where she used to live before things got serious with Adam. Thank God that apartment has a separate entrance. I don’t want anyone else witnessing me in my frazzled state.
Claudia swings the door open and eyes me with concern. “Sweetie, what is it?”
I feel a little foolish for having called her in such a panic, but damn, I needed someone to talk to after what happened.
I walk past her into the house. “Do me a favor. If you ever hear me say that I’m going on another date, shoot me.”
“That bad?”
I drop my clutch onto the hall table. “Fuck, yeah.”
The reality of tonight hits me anew and I want to scream. Instead, I growl a little and move farther into the house. I stop short when I see Annelise sitting on the couch. “Oh. Hi.”
“Annelise was here when you called,” Claudia explains. “She decided to stay, figuring you might need both of us.”
Despite my shaky nerves, my spirits lift a little. These two women ground me. I love them to death, and I know that they love me. They’d drop everything for me if I needed them to.
“I appreciate it,” I say.
Annelise makes her way toward me and snakes an arm around my waist. “What happened?”
“Let’s just say, I thought my date was going to make the eleven o’clock news.”
“Whoa.” This from Claudia. “Why?”
We all sit on the sofa and I spend the next few minutes telling them everything, and by the time I’m done, Annelise is snickering and Claudia is roaring with laughter.
“It’s not funny,” I tell them. “You don’t know how afraid I was.”
“Oh, shit.” Claudia’s eyes are tearing. “Too much drama for me.”
“For you? I’m the one who was caught in the middle of this guy’s sexual identity drama. Hell, the brother didn’t even know if he was straight or not. I should have known. He was much too pretty. And the Kenneth Cole shoes. They should have been a dead giveaway.”
“God, how scary,” Annelise says. “Dating a guy who goes both ways.” She shudders.
“Thank God I didn’t sleep with him.” Now
I
shudder. “This had to be a sign. Obviously, I’m supposed to stop dating.”
“Don’t say that,” Annelise tells me. “There’s a great guy out there for you. I know you’ll find him.”
“Ha!” Both Claudia and Annelise shoot me looks of concern. “Don’t look at me like that. You both don’t know what it’s like. You have men. Trying to find the right one—my God, it’s so hard.”
“I know,” Annelise says. “But you can’t give up.”
“Why not? Dating these days is like Russian roulette. I think I’d rather put a gun to my head and be done with it.”
“I think you need a glass of wine.” Annelise dashes off in the direction of the kitchen.
“Make it a scotch, honey.”
With Annelise out of view, I turn to Claudia. I’m feeling much better and want to think about something positive. “So. Saturday night? You sure you’ve made a decision about the dresses this time?”
“No, but I can’t straddle the fence much longer. The wedding is only five weeks away.”
“For what it’s worth, I love the pastel mauve fabric you showed me. I think it’s much better than the yellow.”
“Really?” Claudia’s eyes light up.
“Of course. I look better in the mauve.”
Now her smile fizzles. She absolutely hates the idea that if she commits to one color, it will be the wrong one.
I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “Relax. The mauve is the right color. It’ll look great on everyone.”
“You’re sure?”
God, she is such a typical Gemini. Unable to make a decision. I still can’t believe she planned a wedding for two days after her thirtieth birthday. But according to her, it’s the best way to celebrate this milestone.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I tell her. I don’t bother to mention that I liked the first color as much, or that will send her world into a tizzy.
“What I want to know,” I continue, “is if you’re ready for this wedding? You left me a message saying you wanted to talk about Adam.”
Claudia motions for me to drop the subject as Annelise reappears. I eye her suspiciously, but she’s now reaching for her drink from the coffee table. Her demeanor gives nothing away.
“Here you go.” Annelise passes me the scotch. For herself, she has a glass full of wine.
“What do you say that for tonight we forget about men and concentrate on us?” Annelise suggests.
“Sounds like a plan,” Claudia agrees.
“I’ll drink to that,” I say. And then I down my scotch.
N
early a full week has passed since I went to that sex club with Adam, and I have to say, he’s been
really
sweet to me. On Tuesday, the very next day, he surprised me with a diamond tennis bracelet, set in platinum. On Wednesday, he gave me this Dior purse I told him I was dying to have—the Vintage Flowers Bag. Yesterday evening, he took me to this park near his brownstone where we had a totally romantic dinner. I swear, I fell in love with him all over again as he fed me chocolate-covered strawberries. He specifically thanked me for working so hard on our wedding, and promised me that it was all worth it because we’re going to have such a wonderful life together.
I couldn’t have had a better week with him. So I’m really surprised tonight, as I’m lying naked on top of him in his bed, when he guides my body off of his, reaches under the bed and produces a fairly large, gift-wrapped box.
Another gift. I can get used to this treatment.
A smile breaks out on my face. “Adam, what
is
this?”
“Open it.”
Taking the box from him, I sit up. I pull at the ribbon, then the gold wrapping, giggling the entire time. But when I lift the lid and pull out all the tissue paper, my smile fizzles. In fact, my stomach tightens with immense disappointment.
“It’s my gift to you,” he says while gently stroking my arm.
It’s a huge dildo. And I mean huge. It’s got straps on it, as well, so there’s no doubt that this is a strap-on.
But Adam already has a penis. One I’m very happy with.
“I don’t get it,” I admit.
“You remember what we saw last week—at that club?”
How can I forget? My eyes are still burning. “I saw lots of stuff.”
“Remember that woman in the cage, and the guy she was with?”
The visual hits me in the face. Yes, I remember. The woman was wearing the strap-on and screwing the guy from behind.
“Adam…” I laugh nervously as I look at him. “Come on, you don’t want me to do that…do you?”
He sucks on the tip of my finger. “If you want to try it, I’m up for it.”
I stare at him in total disbelief. “Are you gay?” It’s the only thing I can think of to ask. Especially after Lishelle’s disastrous date.
He throws his head back and roars with laughter. “Gay? Me? Come on, you know better than that.”
“Then why…” My voice trails off and I shake my head.
“There’s a whole sexual world out there that we have yet to discover. I want to discover it all with you.”
“Are you unhappy with me?” I can’t help blurting.
Adam’s smile is full of love as he gazes at me, and he frames my face with his hands. “Of course not. I have so much love for you, so much passion, that I want to try everything with you. That’s what this is about.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I want us to have the kind of relationship where we can try anything, knowing it will bring us closer together. And I never want you to be timid about suggesting anything to me, because whatever you want to try, I’ll be game.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
I swallow as I gaze into the box. “I’m not so sure I’m comfortable—” I lift the strap-on “—with this.”
“It’s not a world we’ve experienced before. Who knows? Changing roles…it might be fun.”
I really don’t know what’s gotten into Adam. It’s like he’s become a freak.
Or is it me who’s a complete prude? But how can I be a prude? Adam and I have tried every position. We’ve had sex in public places, tried a myriad of sex toys and watched sex videos together. He even convinced me to try anal sex—something I haven’t dared to tell a soul. I thought I would hate every second of it, but I liked it. It was taboo and dirty and turned me on more than I expected.
But this?
I drop the strap-on back into the box and move it behind us. Then I stretch my body out on Adam’s. “Sweetie,” I purr in his ear. “I
like
being the girl.”
“And I like being the guy. Nothing’s gonna change that. But I saw how much that woman in the cage enjoyed the way she was doing that guy…and I thought…I want that for you. A different kind of sexual pleasure.”
I make a sound of derision.
“Hold on to it until you become comfortable,” Adam tells me. “Maybe you never will, but you never know.”
I don’t see that happening. The truth is, the things I’ve tried with Adam I would never have suggested. And quite frankly, while we don’t do it often, I don’t care if we never watch another porn video. And I certainly don’t want to go to another sex club. Adam turns me on. Him alone. Everything about him.
“I’ll tell you right now, I’m not bringing that thing to my parents’ place. We’ll keep it here. I can just imagine what would happen if the cleaner stumbled upon it, or worse—my mother!”
I laugh, and to my relief, Adam does, too. But Lord, I hope he forgets about this strap-on thing. I can’t help wondering if he’s going through some sort of sexual crisis with all the weird and different stuff he’s wanted us to try in the past few months. I pray this phase passes soon, and we can start our lives in the wedded bliss I’ve dreamed of since I was a child.
Is Diana staring at me weirdly?
I can’t help wondering the next morning as we sit across from her in my parents’ backyard. We’re getting together with the wedding planner this morning to go over the final menu. It’s decision day. The week before the wedding, we fly the chefs up from New Orleans to prepare all the items on the menu for us to sample. If there’s anything we don’t like, we can change our minds then, but we need a pretty solid idea of what we’re going with today.
Diana, a graying woman in her late fifties who looks a lot like Diane Keaton, slips her glasses on and opens her planner. “So for appetizers you’re going with the five tomato mozzarella salad, the gumbo and the petite couchon baton. What about the main course? Were you still hoping for beef?”
I look at Adam. He’s wearing dark glasses so no one can see his eyes. But I already know what they look like. Red. He got high this morning before we came to meet Diana.
It’s one other change in him I don’t like. In the past year, Adam’s weed smoking has gotten excessive. He says he needs to relax because he’s so stressed with all the planning for the wedding, as well as his aspirations to run for mayor. I understand that, but there’s a limit for everything.
I ask, “What do you think, Adam?”
“I told you what I think. Let’s have beef.”
I face Diana. “My mother and I have been getting calls. People are wondering why there isn’t a beef option.”
“Those people aren’t planning a wedding for six hundred guests.”
“I know, but—”
“Can I make a suggestion?” she asks.
“Of course,” I answer.
“You’ve got onion-crusted American red snapper and pecan smoked Muscovy duck breast. That’s an excellent menu, certainly satisfactory for even the most discriminating eater. If you want to add anything else, I’d suggest another appetizer. The truffled soft-shell crab bisque. There’s plenty of choice for everyone.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I am right,” Diana assures me. “If anyone wants to complain, tell them to come to me.” She smiles sweetly, a smile that says she’s been planning weddings for over thirty years and knows her stuff.
“Can we make a decision on this, Adam?”
“Whatever you suggest is fine.”
I roll my eyes slightly. I swear, I wish he’d get more involved.
“What about the dessert?” Diana asks.
“The best part,” I say. “I think I’ll gain ten pounds before my honeymoon.”
Diana lifts the sheet with the dessert items and their descriptions. Adam and I have a copy of the same sheet to peruse. “Lemon flan,” Diana reads. “Chocolate-fudge Sheba, crème brûlée, Commander’s pecan pie à la mode, praline parfait, Creole bread pudding soufflé and Creole cream-cheese cheesecake.” She lowers the sheet. “You’re choosing two.”
I glance at Adam, but he’s not even looking our way. His gaze is off in the direction of the woods behind my parents’ house.
I reach for his leg under the table.
“Honey?”
“Yeah, sure. Sounds great.”
Great, he’s not even paying attention! I hide my embarrassment by quickly saying, “We’ll do the Creole bread pudding soufflé and crème brûlée.” I nod. “Yeah, that’s good.”
Diana scribbles some notes.
Is that the right choice? I wonder. “Wait. You know what—if they’re preparing a sampling menu for us, why don’t you add the lemon flan and praline parfait to the list. That way, we can see what we like best before the wedding.”
“No problem.” Diana makes more notes. “You’re paying big bucks for perfection, and I assure you you’ll have perfection.”
At the price she’s charging, we most certainly should have perfection.
“Now for the fun part.”
“Oh?” I say.
“I have a surprise for you.”
I squeeze Adam’s hand. “A surprise. Isn’t that exciting, Adam?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s great.”
Diana removes her glasses, pushes her chair back and stands. “Let’s head to the pool-area bar, because you two lovebirds are going to create your own drink.”
“Our own drink?” I can’t help smiling.
“I brought in a mixologist today and he’ll work with you to concoct a cocktail specifically for you and your guests that they’ll enjoy as they arrive at the reception.”
“That sounds amazing.” I look to Adam, who’s got a cheesy smile on his face. “I had no clue.”
“I like to add some personal touches of my own,” Diana tells us.
Adam and I get up. We follow Diana to the pool area in my parents’ vast backyard. They have a full bar there housed in a Caribbean-style hut. Behind the bar’s counter, I see a white man with shoulder-length blond hair. He’s tanned and looks as if he just stepped off a beach. He’s the type I associate with surfers and a carefree lifestyle.
“I’m gonna like this,” Adam proclaims.
At least he’s interested again. No surprise there. With the amount of drinks we’ll sample, I’m sure we’ll have a nice buzz before noon.
“I’ll leave you two to Jason,” Diana announces, “and I’ll head back into the house, as I have some things to go over with your parents.”
Adam and I slip onto bar stools. Jason extends his hand and we take turns shaking it as we introduce ourselves.
“Jason, you look like you flew in from Hawaii last night,” I can’t help commenting.
Jason chuckles. “Nope, I’m from Atlanta. I work at a bar in Buckhead.”
“Adam and I live in Buckhead.”
“Have you been to Apple?”
“No. That’s the piano bar, right? We keep meaning to check it out. Don’t we, Adam?”
“Yeah,” he responds, and I’m sure Jason must realize he’s high.
“Why don’t you?” Jason asks. “That’s where I am almost every day of the week.”
Jason’s eyes linger on mine, and I wonder if he’s just hit on me.
Adam, however, is oblivious. He reaches for my hand. I can’t help gazing at him with affection. I like when he’s amorous with me.
But Adam doesn’t just link fingers with me, he pulls my hand toward him, stopping only when it’s on his crotch.
Oh my God. He’s hard.
My face flushing, I quickly glance away. “Jason, what do you have for us?”
“Yes, what indeed?” Adam asks.
Jason shrugs. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Oh, we’re pretty risqué. Like to live life on the edge. I’m sure whatever you suggest will excite us.”
OhmyGodtellmeheisn’tpropositioningthebartender!
“I was thinking something fruity,” I quickly tell Jason. “Maybe with vodka, or rum. Something that will make me think of lazy days on an island beach.”
“Got ya.”
Jason spins around and grabs some bottles. If he thought there was anything strange about Adam’s words, he’s chosen to ignore it.
Thank the Lord.
I lift my sunglasses and glare at Adam. He flashes me a devilish smile, one that confirms my worst fear.
What’s happened to you, Adam?
I wonder.
What’s happened to the man I love?
On Monday, I’m still feeling very weird about what happened on the weekend with the bartender. I could stay home and ruminate by myself, but instead I call Annelise and see if she wants to get together for dinner. Nothing fancy, just dinner at my place. Lishelle’s working, or I would have invited her, too.
But maybe it’s good that it’s just me and Annelise. Not only do we have to discuss the wedding photography, I’ve decided to confide in her about my concerns over Adam. Originally, I figured I might broach the subject of Adam’s bizarre sexual appetite with Lishelle, but considering Annelise is in a relationship, she might be the better one to discuss this with. Because I have to talk to someone, or I’m gonna go out of my mind.
I swallow my bite of Caesar salad, then put down my fork. “Annelise,” I say cautiously.
She looks up from her salad. “Yeah?”
I think of how best to phrase what I want to ask, but there’s only one way to say it. I’ve got to say it straight. “Does Charles ever want…really kinky sex?”
Annelise’s eyes widen in surprise. “Why do you ask that?”
“I just…” I lean forward and whisper, as though there’s a fly on the wall that could hear us. “Adam is into all kinds of weird stuff lately. I’m hoping it’s a phase. But I’m also wondering…is it me? Am I uncomfortable with it because I’m a prude or something? I know times have changed drastically even in ten years, so maybe it is me. Then again…” I blow out a breath. “I know it’s a personal question, but has Charles ever been into…weird stuff? And if so, did he get over it? I guess I want to hear that it won’t last forever.”
Annelise clears her throat. “Wow. That was—”
“A mouthful, I know. And probably too much information. But I need to know if I’m obsessing over this, or if perhaps I need to be more sexually liberated.”
Annelise’s fork clinks against her plate as she lowers it. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I have no experience in that department.”
“Damn,” I mutter. “So Adam
is
a freak—that’s what you think?”