Killing Them Softly (5 page)

Devin inched a little closer to me in the backseat. "It’s nothing illegal, and it’s nothing sexual either. But it
is
violent, and some people find it distasteful."

"
Si, si,
" the driver agreed.

"But I assure you, Avonte, you’ll be perfectly safe. And anytime you’re ready to go, you just say the word."

And that seemed to hold me until we arrived at Coliseo Gallistico, and I realized that it was a cock-fighting arena. "Cock-fighting?" I asked with my hands on my hips. "You into this?"

"No. This will be my first time," Devin said, as we continued walking toward the door. "I wanted to do something different."

"Well, it’s definitely that."

Devin stopped and turned to me. "If you don’t want to go, I mean if it’s too much for you, we don’t have to go in. We can find someplace else to go. I just thought, you know, this kind of stuff you can’t do in New York."

"’Cause it’s barbaric, not to mention illegal."

"We don’t have to go," Devin said and turned away.

I looked at him as we began walking away. His shoulders had dropped, and his once proud and confident walk that I found so sexy, had all but disappeared. He was really looking forward to doing this, just like I was all hyped about the Wall City. Now I felt selfish. And I wondered should I care.

I had decided back at the Cathedral de San Juan that I wasn’t going to sleep with him tonight. We’ll probably never see each other again. So do I really care if he’s upset that I don’t wanna see mindless violence masquerading as a sport?

The answer was no. But I’m not a selfish person and my opinion of me at this point, was much more important than what Devin thinks of me. So I stopped.

"Wait a minute, Devin."

"What?" he asked and sulked back to me.

"Come on." I looped my arm in his and began walking. "We’re going to a cock-fight."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I’m sure—sure I never wanna see that spoiled child look for the rest of the night."

"Was it that bad?"

I didn’t bother commenting. The answer was obvious.

When we got inside the arena it was almost full, but still kind of quiet. We took our seats in time to watch the handlers as they teased the birds with a third bird, before teasing them with each other to make them more aggressive—I guess. All roosters were outfitted in white or blue ankle bands.

As the fight began, the roosters knew what to do. The atmosphere totally changed from the second the first bell sounded. People were shouting bets all across the arena. "Five hundred on
azul
!"
Azul
means blue in Spanish.

At first it was quite shocking, then it got a bit disgusting, but after a couple of matches, I was surprisingly into it. By the fourth match I was making bets, and during the match I was on my feet yelling at the top of my lungs, "
AZUL, AZUL, AZUL!"

After ten matches, I had had enough and was ready to go. We took a cab back to our hotel, and Devin checked his watch. "What’s that wife of yours gonna say when you drift in after midnight?"

"Nothing. We’re leaving in the morning, so she’ll probably be asleep when I get there. And if she’s awake, I’ll tell her that I went to the cock-fights. She’ll say, fine, because that’s her answer to just about everything when she’s like this."

When the cab arrived, I walked through the lobby with Devin. But since I decided he wasn’t getting any, I stopped at the elevator. I saw no point in tempting myself by saying good night at the door. "I think we should say good night here."

I had to laugh a little to myself, because the look on his face was priceless. It went from "I’ma tear that ass up" to total shock. Then confusion set in, like he was trying to figure out what he’d done wrong, to spoiled child. "I told you about that look."

"That bad?"

"It’s worse this time."

"You just don’t know."

I rolled my eyes. "Believe me, I do."

But a promise is a promise; especially to yourself. The solution to Tyrone cheating on me with Blondie was not to become a cheater myself. I had more pride in myself than that. But I wasn’t stupid.

There was a man sitting by the elevator fooling with his laptop, and taking notes.
Poor guy, working on his vacation, at this hour.
"Excuse me, Devin."

I borrowed the man’s pen and wrote down my cell phone number. "Call me some time. We’ll have lunch, or whatever," I said, as the elevator door opened.

"Or whatever."

I got on the elevator. "Good night, Devin. I had a really good time hanging out with you."

Fresh outta Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women, and back in the city. The charge was aggravated assault. It wasn’t my first time in jail. My first bid was at juvenile when I was fifteen. I came home one night from having sex with my boyfriend, and heard my mama screaming. I went in the apartment and saw my mama’s drunk-ass man slappin’ her in the face, while he raped her in the living room.

I jumped on his back and started hittin’ him, you know, tryin’ to get his drunk-ass off her. He got up off my moms and came after me. That bitch just laid there and watched that nigga beat my ass, and then he raped me, too. My own mom didn’t do shit to help me.

After he was done with me, he left the house. My moms got up and came to me. I was cryin’ and shit. She helped me get up. "You all right, Qianna?"

"He raped me, Mama," I yelled, and pushed her off of me. "Why the fuck didn’t you help me?"

"What the fuck was I gon’ do?" she said, and took me in the bathroom to clean me up. "No! We gotta call the cops!"

"No!"

"But he raped me, Mama!"

"No!" she yelled back at me. "We ain’t callin’ no damn cops."

"Why not?" I yelled through my tears.

"He didn’t mean it. He just drunk, that’s all. You know how he get when he like that. He don’t mean us no harm."

I couldn’t believe the shit that bitch was talkin’. That drunk-ass nigga beat and raped my mama. Then he did the same shit to me. And this bitch didn’t wanna do shit about it.

I knew what I had to do.

The next night I waited until he was drunk again. Him and my moms was sittin’ in the livin’ room watchin’ TV, like that shit never happened. Her on the couch; him in the chair. I went in the kitchen and got the biggest knife I could find. They were too into whatever bullshit show they was watchin’ to pay me any mind. I came up behind him, grabbed his head, and slit his fuckin’ throat. While my moms screamed her fuckin’ ass off.

I had just killed a man, and you know what?

I liked it.

Got off on it.

Somehow ending his life began mine. I felt powerful and strong, like I could do anything, and nobody could stop me.

That was, until the cops came and took my ass to jail for murder. And do you know that bitch wouldn’t testify for me at my trial? She told the cops that he never touched me, and he didn’t rape either one of us. Stupid bitch, scared to death of a dead man.

On my second day at the juvenile facility, this big burly lookin’ girl cut in front of me in the food line. I let that pass, ’cause I didn’t give a fuck.

But I started paying attention to this bitch, seein’ how she rolled. She had everybody in our buildin’ scared to death of her. I stayed out of her way for the next couple of weeks. At the time, my thinkin’ was, you know, mind your business, stay out of trouble, do your time and get out of there.

It didn’t work out that way. Shit never fuckin’ does.

Our next confrontation came in the cafeteria again, when she knocked my tray out of my hands.

"You shouldn’t be so clumsy, bitch," she said to me.

"Who you callin’ a bitch, bitch?" I said, and stepped to her. Then the poo-lice came and got between us.

"What’s goin’ on here?"

"She threw her tray at me," the bitch lied.

Not only did I have to clean up her mess, but since the bitch told them that I threw the tray at her, they took me to the detention unit. Might as well call it what it was—they threw my ass in the hole for two days.

I knew what I had to do.

When I got out and went back to my buildin’, I played it cool, but I had a plan for that bitch. For the next few days, I walked around the yard, picking up rocks.

Once I thought I had enough, I put all the rocks in a sock and waited for my time. After lights out that night, I made my move to her bed with the sock full of rocks behind my back.

"What you want, bitch?" she asked when she looked up and saw me standing there.

"For you to die," I said, and beat her wit’ it. I don’t know how many times I hit her, but there was blood everywhere. Then I took her pillow and put it over her face until she stopped moving.

She was dead.

The feeling I got while I was killin’ her was indescribable.

I went around to everybody and gave each one of them a rock, and told them to get rid of it. After that, I was the big bitch in the room. Now they were all scared to death of me. And nobody fucked wit’ me for the rest of my bid.

When I got out, I thought I needed a change of scenery, so I went to California. I had been out there chillin’ in LA for a couple of months. LA was nice, and I liked it out there. Anyway, one night I was buyin’ some green, you know, to get my head right; and the mutha fucka cheated me on some weight.

"Yo, this shit light than a mutha fucka."

"That’s an ounce, baby girl. I weighed it myself just ’fore you got here."

"Then your scale is broke. Why you tryin’ to cheat me, nigga?"

"Fuck you, bitch. Take that shit and get the fuck out."

"Fuck that, nigga. Gimme my fuckin’ money back."

"I ain’t givin’ you shit. You need to take what you got, and get the fuck outta here ’fore I kick your ass."

That’s when I put my hand on my knife. "You ain’t kickin’ this ass. Not today."

"Fuck you, bitch," he said, and started toward me like he was gonna do something. I pulled out my blade and next thing you know, it was sticking in his chest.

"Fuck you!" I shouted.

I watched his dead body drop to the floor. Then I pulled my blade out of his chest and cleaned his blood off of it. I got the fuck outta there with the weed and my money, and was happy than a mutha fucka that we were alone.

Next time, I wasn’t that lucky. Six months later, I was at a party and there were plenty of witnesses. I was there with my woman, and we got into it over her sweatin’ this other bitch while I’m sittin’ right there wit’ her. That shit was just fuckin’ disrespectful.

"What is you doin’?" I asked her.

"What?"

"You must see somethin’ you want," I said, and got in her face.

"She is kinda cute," this bitch had the fuckin’ nerve to tell me. Okay, the bitch was fine as hell, but that ain’t the point.

"You want that bitch, gon’ be wit’ her then." I was so fuckin’ mad I slapped the shit outta her.

Only problem was, my woman was also this dude’s woman, so when I slapped her, he wanna do something about it.

His punk-ass come runnin’ over there. "What the fuck is wrong wit’ you, Qianna?"

"Mind your fuckin’ business. This between me and her," I said, and stood up. I don’t back down for no fuckin’ body. So when that nigga got in my face, I stepped right to his chest. "You need to back the fuck up."

Well, you know how shit can go. He was pushin’ me. I pushed him. When the nigga fucked around and slapped me, I took out my blade and swung it at him, but I missed. He rushed at me and my blade ended up in his gut. I was on the bus back to New York that next morning.

It was Monday morning, and I was back at my desk. I worked as a tax attorney at the law firm of Weiss, Cabot & Davenport. The first day back from vacation was always the hardest, so I spent most of the morning moving the papers on my desk from side to side to give the appearance of work. My body was there, but in general, my mind was in Puerto Rico, totally focused on Avonte.

Now it was back to work.

The pile of mail seemed mountainous. "I’ll deal with that later." I decided to check my voice mail. Before I left, I’d recorded a new message advising callers that I would be out of the office for the next three days, directing them to call Sandra Marshall. They didn’t seem to care. There were forty-two new messages. The result was the same when I turned on my computer and logged into e-mail, and found ninety-four unread messages. I took a deep breath and spent the next three hours reading and answering e-mail, listening to voice mails and returning calls.

So far, the only thing I had going for me was that the morning meeting had been rescheduled until one o’clock. Every now and then, I would glance at Avonte’s number. I picked up the phone and was about to dial her number when Sandra Marshall, my assistant, knocked on the door.

She and I worked well together. She was my right hand. Sandra moved to New York with her husband Ike, from San Antonio. She spoke with the most adorable southern accent, and had an almost childlike innocence about her. But Sandra was passionate when it came to things she believed in, and Chinese food. She was a pretty woman in a very natural kind of way. Her hair was shoulder length, parted down the middle. She dressed stylish, but not flashy; pants and a blouse every day. She was proud of the fact that the last time she wore a dress was six years ago. That was the day she interviewed for the job. The only makeup she wore was lipstick. "You busy?" she asked as she walked in and sat down.

"Trying my best not to be," I said.

"Hard to get back in it, ain’t it? How was the vacation?"

" Sandra, let me tell you. We had a ball. The first couple of days, you know, we played the tourist role—went on all the tours. Did some shopping," I lied. "Yes, I brought you something. But I left it home."

"What’d you get me?" Sandra asked excitedly.

"I got you a bottle of Bacardi Rum and a Bacardi shirt. I’ll try to remember it tomorrow."

"See that you do. So what else did you do?"

"Spent a lot of time at the beach."

"I can tell. You look darker. Ike and I went there for our honeymoon. I had a good time, but Ike hated it."

"Really? Why?"

"You’ll have to ask him."

"I’ll do that, if I ever get to meet him." We’d made plans to get together on several occasions, but something would always come up, or one couple or the other wouldn’t be able to make it. We almost met at the company picnic last year, but we kept missing each other. "I’m starting to think he’s a figment of your imagination. And that picture on your desk came with the frame."

"Trust me, Devin, he’s very real," she said, in a way that made me curious.

"Sounds like trouble in paradise."

"Nah, nothing like that. I don’t even feel like going into it."

"Okay, far be it for me to pry into your personal affairs."

Just then, Winston Hunter stuck his head in the door. "Good morning, Devin. Morning, Sandra."

"Morning, Winston," Sandra said, and got up.

"What’s up, Winston?"

"Let me get to work," Sandra said, and started to leave my office.

"I didn’t mean to run you off," Winston told her.

"You’re not. I have a lot to do this morning," she said, and turned to me. "We can go over what happened while you were gone anytime you’re ready," she commented, and left my office.

"How the was vacation?" Winston asked.

He and I were competing for partner at the firm. Typical blonde-haired, blue-eyed white boy who thought the world was his playground. But since he was the only guy there close to my age, Winston was my
at work
best friend.

"The vacation was fine. Had a good time," I said, and balled up Avonte’s number, and tossed it in the trashcan next to my desk. "How have things been going around here?"

Winston started to bring me up to speed on all of the goings on at the office during my absence. But I wasn’t listening. My mind was still on Avonte. I wanted Avonte bad. And I knew what calling her would mean. She’d made me feel excited and alive, you know, the way Taye used to. I looked at the picture of Taye on the corner of my desk. I loved Taye so much and had never cheated on her, but wondered how much more could I take.

I looked up at Winston, who had taken a seat, and was still going on about work. "So, did you and the Mrs. play nice together, or does a state of war still exist between the two of you?"

"Yeah, we got along okay," I lied.

"You know what, Devin, old buddy? It’s a good thing that you’re a tax attorney and not a trial lawyer."

"Why is that, Winston?"

"Because when you lie, it’s written all over your face. So come on, old pal of mine . . . the truth this time."

"Okay, if you really must know. I had a good time. I drank more than I should have. I took a twelve-hour deep-sea fishing cruise. Did some swimming, but no, Taye and I did nothing together but sleep in the same room. Oh, we did have a couple of meals together," I said, and my mind returned immediately to Avonte.

"What?" Winston asked.

"What?"

"That smile."

"What smile?"

"That cat-that-swallowed-the-rat smile on your face when you talked about dinner. What was that all about?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing huh?" Winston said skeptically. "That look says it was much more than nothing."

"Okay. I did meet somebody while I was there. She was beautiful, vibrant, intelligent, and sexy as hell."

"Did you fuck her?" Winston asked with a horrified look on his face.

"No, no. Nothing like that. We just talked, flirted a little, but that was it."

"Well, that’s good to know," Winston said, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Taye’s a good woman—too good a woman for you to be cheating on her. I know you guys are having some problems, but cheating is never the answer."

"I know that, Winston. Come on, I love my wife, and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her." I looked at Winston. I knew that Winston liked Taye, but wondered where all this was coming from.

"So what’s her name?"

"Who?"

"The woman."

"Frances," I lied, and hoped Winston wouldn’t pick up on it. "Frances Nichols."

"Does she live around here?"

"LA huh? I hear LA women are freaky as hell."

"Yeah, I heard that about them, too. But she lives three thousand miles away. So you can rest assured that I won’t be seeing her again."

Winston got up and looked at me. "Good."

As soon as he was gone, I went in the trashcan and took out Avonte’s number. I smoothed it out and put it in my desk drawer.

At the end of a very long day, I turned out the lights in my office and made my way home to Rockland County. On the way, I tried to put thoughts of Avonte out of my mind.

The attempt was unsuccessful.

Vivid images of her continued to dominate me. In my mind’s eye, I could see images of me making love to Avonte.

I’m sitting quietly on the bed as Avonte walked slowly toward me with her hands behind her back. Then she stopped to allow the sexy red dress she was wearing to drop to the floor. Damn she was so fuckin’ fine.
Avonte continued coming toward me. Her eyes were ablaze with the passion she was about to share with me. Once she was standing in front of me, Avonte said, "Stand up."

I quickly stood up.

"Take off your clothes," she commanded.

I quickly began to loosen my tie and unbutton my shirt at the same time. "No!" Avonte said.

I stopped.

"Do it slowly. I like to watch."

I smiled at her and did as she asked, slowly and methodically removing each article of my clothing for Avonte’s entertainment. Once I was naked, Avonte stepped to me and pressed her naked body against mine. I felt the heat of her body and she felt mine, and we kissed a long and passionate kiss, without using our hands. Our tongues glided effortlessly over each other’s, until we stopped for air.

Avonte laid down on the bed, and I ran my hand across her breasts, and then teased them with my tongue, sliding it slowly around her beautiful nipples. Once again, we enjoyed the taste of each other’s tongues darting playfully in and out of our mouths. Avonte smiled and touched my face, and then she curled up in the fetal position. I ran my hand over her shoulder and down her arm. Her skin was so soft.

Avonte began to move in response. She rolled into my arms and kissed my lips. I tasted her tongue as it glided slowly and smoothly over mine. I broke our embrace and spread her legs. I kissed her inner thighs, and then tasted the wetness between them. Avonte held my head in place as my tongue slithered along her lips, making circles around her clit. Her grip grew tighter, her stomach muscles locked, and her head drifted back in quiet ecstasy.

I watched Avonte gliding her hands across my skin to my now throbbing erection. Avonte repositioned herself and straddled my body, as I looked on with great anticipation. She lowered herself onto me. While Avonte took my erection into the wetness between her thighs, I stared into her eyes. They were so intense, so filled with passion that I couldn’t look away. Avonte moved her body agonizingly slow, until her body began to tremble.

Avonte rolled off me, and I watched as she crawled around on the bed. I crawled over beside her and ran my hands along her back, around her perfect ass, then squeezed her firm thighs. Avonte spread her legs, and I fingered her clit and played with her lips. I got up on my knees and entered her from behind. Her pussy was tight, yet so very soft, so very wet. I felt her ass pounding against me, felt the muscles inside her tighten around me. The fantasy ended when I pulled into my driveway, into the garage, and turned off my engine.

The house was in darkness when I went inside. Taye’s car was in the garage, so I knew she was there. "Taye," I called to her, but got no response. "Taye!" Still, I got no answer.

I wandered around the house turning on lights and looking in each room for her, until I reached our bedroom. I turned on the light and there on the bed, fully clothed, lay Taye. "Hi, baby."

Taye slowly opened her eyes. "Hello," she said.

"You okay?"

"I’m fine."

"You have a good day at work?"

"It was fine."

"Can I get you anything?" I asked.

"No. I told you I’m fine," Taye said, and rolled into the fetal position. "Could you turnoff the light, please?"

I shook my head. "Sure, baby. If you need anything, just let me know," I said, as I turned off the light and closed the door.

I went back downstairs and into the den. I walked over to the bar and grabbed the bottle of Barcardi, and a glass off the shelf. When the glass was full, I drank it down and poured another. I took off my jacket and loosened my tie, before sitting down. I picked up the remote and turned on the CD player. The re-mastered version of the Miles Davis classic
Kind of Blue,
eased gently out of the speakers. The name of the song was "So What"
,
and that was exactly how I felt. And for that, I felt guilty.

I thought back to the first conversation I had with Dr. Larrieux, as she tried to explain to me what Taye was experiencing. "Depression is a serious medical illness, Devin. It’s not just something that Taye has made up in her head. It’s more than just feeling down in the dumps or blue for a few days. It’s feeling down and low and hopeless for weeks at a time."

"I understand," I said. But at the time, I really didn’t grasp the magnitude of her condition.

"Taye’s type of depression is called
bipolar disorder,
or manic-depressive illness. It’s characterized by cycling mood changes: severe highs or mania, and lows or depression. Sometimes the mood switches are dramatic and rapid, but most often they are gradual. When in the depressed cycle, an individual can have any or all of the symptoms of a depressive disorder."

"And what are those?"

"Persistent sad, anxious, or empty moods," Dr. Larrieux said. "Feelings of hopelessness or pessimism. She could experience feelings of guilt, worthlessness, and or helplessness. It can range from loss of interest or pleasure in hobbies and activities that were once enjoyed, including sex."

"Yeah, she’s definitely got that one."

"She could experience decreased energy or fatigue. She may have difficulty concentrating or remembering, or just making simple decisions."

"Okay, Dr. Larrieux, what’s the plan?"

"There are a variety of antidepressant medications and psychotherapies that can be used to treat depressive disorders. We are going to start with a combined treatment and medication. My hope is that Taye will gain relatively quick symptom relief, and psychotherapy will help her learn more effective ways to deal with life’s problems, including depression."

"What can I do to help?"

"The most important thing you can do is to offer Taye emotional support. This involves understanding, patience, affection, and encouragement. Invite her for walks, outings, go to the movies and other activities. Encourage Taye to participate in some activities that once gave her pleasure, but do not push her to undertake too much too soon. What she needs is diversion and company, but too many demands can increase feelings of failure."

I tried to do everything that Dr. Larrieux suggested. At first it seemed that Taye was responding well to the treatment, but now it seems like she’s slipping. Maybe it was too soon for something as big as a trip to Puerto Rico. But then I thought about what the doctor said about the changes sometimes being gradual. As I looked back over the past few weeks, that’s exactly what had been happening.

Although at the time I didn’t really understand what she was going through, after dealing with it for so long, I felt like I could write a book on the subject—
How to Live With Your Manic-depressive Wife
. "A guaranteed bestseller, for sure," I said, and raised my glass.