Read Nothing But Trouble Online

Authors: Bettye Griffin

Nothing But Trouble (23 page)

Chapter 30
D
ana awoke feeling anxious the day Vanessa came home from Miami. Gil had arranged to meet her at the airport with Irene. She waited as long as she could stand it before calling him at home. He had to be back by now. “So, how'd it go?” Dana asked Gil.
“Her flight was on time. She had a good time—”
“That's not what I meant, Gil.”
“The minute Vanessa went up to her room Irene asked me if you and I were still seeing each other.”
“And?”
“She didn't like my answer.”
“Oh.”
“I'm sorry, Dana. I know this makes things difficult for you because of Brittany's friendship with Vanessa.”
“It's not your fault. I was the one who blurted it out about us to Irene in the first place.”
“Yes, but from the way she's behaving, I really don't think it would have made a difference in her reaction whether she learned earlier or later.”
Dana began to wonder if she should be more concerned about Irene than she was. Gil made it sound so serious. “Come on, Gil. Don't you think she'll get over it after a few weeks?”
“No, Dana, I don't think so. I was married to Irene for a long time. I know how she is.”
“Well, did you get to talk to Vanessa at all about us?”
“I had to tell her in front of Irene. She wouldn't give me a moment alone with Vanessa.”
Dana's heart thumped so loudly she thought it would come out of her chest. “How'd she take it?”
“It was definitely a surprise. She asked Irene if this was the surprise she'd told her about.”
“So all Irene told Vanessa was that you had a surprise for her.”
“That would be too simple. She intimated it wasn't a good surprise, so the seed has already been planted. Vanessa said she thought her mother and I were going to get back together. She asked why I was going out with you.”
Dana swallowed hard. “Why did she think you and Irene were going to reconcile?”
“Because Irene has been sharing her hopes with our daughter. Imagine, a grown woman confiding in a child. I think she needs to remember that Vanessa is her daughter, not her friend.”
“So Irene does want you back.”
He sighed. “I don't want to sound like an egomaniac, but Irene fought the divorce from the very beginning. She's a very controlling, manipulative woman, Dana. Always has been. The only reason we got married in the first place was because she got pregnant with Vanessa, accidentally on purpose, as they say.
“I tried to make the best of it,” he continued. “But being with someone out of a sense of duty isn't the same as being with them because you're madly in love. As time went on I felt more and more unhappy. I'm afraid I wasn't faithful. Irene sensed it, and she became more of a shrew. She said that if I left she'd make me pay through the nose for Vanessa. That's a natural reaction for most women when they've been hurt, to strike back at their husbands in the pocketbook. But most women don't stay angry for long. Irene does.”
“Hell hath no fury,” Dana said quietly.
Dana noticed Brittany's dejected expression right away. “What's wrong, Britt?”
“I called Vanessa again. I've been trying to reach her since she came back from her grandparents', but she always said she couldn't talk because she was busy.”
Apprehension stabbed at Dana's gut. “Oh? That sounds strange.”
“I thought so, too. So I called her again, and she said she doesn't think she can be friends with me because of what you've done to her mother.”
“What I've done?”
“Vanessa says that you've taken Mr. Gil away from her mother, that he and her mother were about to get back together until you came into the picture.”
Dana withdrew her breath sharply in shock. “No, Brittany, that's not true. Vanessa's parents were divorced well before Gil and I looked at each other. Irene may have convinced herself that reconciliation was right around the corner, but Gil had no intention of going back to her. We discussed it, and I believe him.”
“Well, I don't think it's fair for you to go out with him if it means Vanessa and I won't be friends anymore.” Brittany half spoke and half cried the words.
Dana held out her arms. As she stroked her daughter's hair she said softly, “I'm so sorry, Brittany. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. You see, Gil and I agreed that he would be the one to tell Irene about us, and I blabbed it to Irene when she came over one day to pick up a piece of clothing Vanessa left over here. I thought she would take it well, but she was furious.
“Vanessa is in a difficult situation,” she continued. “She sees her mother is hurt, and she blames me, largely because her mother told her it's my fault, even though it isn't. So try not to be too hard on her. I'm sure she'll come around.”
“But we've been friends our whole lives, Mommy! It isn't fair for her to not want to be friends anymore because of you and Mr. Gil. Can't you just stop seeing him?”
Dana pulled back a little and forced Brittany to look up. “I can't do that, Britt. You see, Gil and I have come to care for each other quite a bit.”
“You mean love? Like with Daddy?”
“I don't think I'd say I'm in love, but I feel I owe it to myself to find out what might happen.”
“But what about me? I haven't done anything wrong. Why should I lose my best friend because of what you're doing?”
Dana swallowed hard. “Brittany, I'm not doing anything wrong, either. Gil and I are both single adults. We're free to see each other. Vanessa has simply been manipulated by her mother into breaking off her friendship with you. I know it's not fair, but all I can ask is that you be patient. Vanessa will come around. In the meantime, you do have other friends.”
“But it won't be the same, Mommy!” Brittany sobbed.
Dana's arms tightened around her daughter, and she breathed deeply. For a moment she considered breaking it off with Gil, but then she realized that really wouldn't help Brittany. The damage had already been done. Vanessa wouldn't suddenly come prancing back into Brittany's life if she stopped seeing Gil.
Maybe she shouldn't even tell Brittany that Vanessa would come around, because she might not. A friendship that seemed destined to last a lifetime might be over for good.
She didn't know how she could live with herself for the part she had played in its end.
Chapter 31
V
ic sat alone at a table on the upstairs deck of Bukkets at the Beach, listening to a blues band. Funny how blues had caught on with the white boys; these dudes' music sounded pretty damn good to his ears.
He needed something soothing. His own wife always had something to do, either something for her transcription service or for her damn friends. She hardly ever even cooked anymore. Except for one steak meal she made early in the week, every other dinner they'd had came from either the supermarket deli or from restaurant takeout.
Vic glanced around at the women in attendance. Jacksonville and its beaches were crawling with single, unattached women, but none of them were here tonight. The women here were all young and white. Too bad. His male ego was crying out for some feminine attention, but he'd never felt the urge to go that route. Maybe he should have held on to the phone numbers of the women he'd dated in between his marriages. But it had been too long, and he was sure none of them were still available. Too bad. The terms of those relationships had been perfect for him: Dinner, movie, and then back to their place for sex. He might have been able to convince one of them to skip the dinner or the movie and hit the sheets for old times' sake. He wouldn't mind a little meaningless sex right about now, as long as his partner was someone other than Norell.
She had turned their marital relations into something meaningless. At this point he'd had it with her, her company, her friends, and her drinking. He'd tried to give her everything, but all she could do was bemoan the fact that she couldn't get pregnant. Plenty of other joys in life existed besides having babies. The funny thing was that if, by some miracle, Norell did get pregnant, she'd probably complain about having to get up in the middle of the night to tend to a bawling baby. The grass was always greener.
After an hour and three beers he began to get bored. He decided to go check on the rental condominium he owned—the last vacationers who rented it had just returned home two days ago—and then just go home, unless he decided to hang around the condo and listen to some music. Hell, maybe he'd even spend the night there, just to get Norell worrying. If she thought she might lose him, maybe she'd get her ass in gear and stop working so much.
The band finished a number, and the crowd applauded wildly. Vic was surprised at how rowdy they had become. It had to be the alcohol. He leaned forward a little so he could scan the crowd without straining his neck muscles. A brown face jumped out at him, and not just any old face. She looked like that woman he'd had dinner with at The Landing a couple of weeks ago. What was her name? Damn, he couldn't remember. Wait a minute. Didn't it sound something like a tire?
She sat at a rear table with two young white women, whom he surmised were friends from work. Judging from her expression, she felt as bored as he did. Vic quickly signaled a waitress. “I want you to deliver a drink to the young lady at the table back there. She's African American, has light-colored hair, and is wearing a tan blouse,” he instructed.
“Right away, sir.”
The waitress, a blonde in her mid-twenties, immediately approached Micheline's table. “The gentleman sitting up ahead would like to buy you a drink, miss.”
Micheline craned her neck to see through the tables separating them. She only saw the back of a head, but the gray in it and the way it was cut told her it had to be that old guy, Vic, from The Landing. She wondered if his wife had stood him up again. “Thank you. I'll have another green-apple martini. But you can deliver it to his table.” She picked up her purse. What perfect timing. She had just been about to ditch this joint anyway. The music wasn't bad, but the company left much to be desired. She only came out in the first place because she didn't want to be home. She knew Errol would call, and with a man you never knew when he might drive past your apartment and look for your car, so it wasn't enough to merely turn off or ignore the phone. She wanted Errol to realize that she had a life outside of the time they spent together. If she looked boring and predictable to him, he'd lose interest. She had to be elusive, especially after holding on to him this long. He'd invited her to have dinner with his parents on Sunday, so she had to be doing something right.
“Excuse me, girls,” she said to her companions. “I see an acquaintance of mine. I'm going to go and have a drink with him. I'll be back in a bit.” She had no intentions of rejoining them, but she felt it sounded nicer to say she would.
She ignored the admiring glances she received from most of the men she passed, all of whom were white, and most of whom were there with dates. “Hi!” she said as she sat down next to Vic. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hi. It's funny. I just happened to turn around, and there you were.”
“I don't know how I missed you when I came in.”
“Sometimes if you're not expecting to see someone you don't really notice they're there. How've you been ... Micheline?” Silently reciting all the brand names of tires he could think of had suddenly restored her name to his memory.
“Pretty good, Vic. How about you? Don't tell me your wife stood you up again?”
Might as well find out the deal from the jump
, she reasoned.
He chuckled. “No. Actually, she's entertaining a group of her girlfriends. They're going to tie one on, and I just didn't feel like being around a bunch of cackling, slightly intoxicated females.”
“Oh, I see.” Micheline supposed a bunch of women over forty-five getting drunk and loud wouldn't be a pretty sight.
They sat back in their chairs, temporarily foregoing conversation in favor of the music. The waiter delivered Micheline's drink, and Vic raised his beer glass in a silent toast.
After two more numbers the band announced they were taking a break. “They're really good,” Micheline remarked when they left the bandstand. “But when the girls said they were going to see a blues band, I thought there would be more black people here.”
“Blues is big here at the beach. The white folks love it. I'm not sure why they don't have more black clientele. Maybe people don't realize they're out here.”
“Maybe. It's too bad.”
Vic glanced at the two women Micheline had been sitting with, who had now been joined by a man. “I hope I didn't interfere with your evening.”
“No, not at all. We just met out here after work and had dinner.”
“Didn't you say at dinner last time that you lived off Touchton Road? You're kind of far from home, aren't you?”
“Not that far. I like it. At one point I considered moving out here, but I decided it would be more convenient to live closer to town. Plus, I can't really afford hurricane insurance. Just because there hasn't been a major storm since sixty-four doesn't mean one won't hit soon.”
“Yeah, I remember that. Hurricane Dora. She tore up the beaches.”
“You remember that? It's been more than forty years.”
He smiled at her. “You're being kind, but yes, I remember. Of course, I was just a kid at the time, but I remember a lot of things from that era. Hell, I remember when you and I couldn't be served in a restaurant like this. There were ‘
WHITES ONLY'
signs everywhere.”
“Wow.”
“I'll never forget it. Sometimes I'm amazed that I still live here, but then things began to change and this city got a lot friendlier, even if a lot of white folks did rush to get their houses on the market when the first black family moved into their neighborhoods.”
“It looks like you've done pretty well here.”
“I haven't done too badly, I guess.” He drained his beer. “I was about to take a ride over to my condo and check it out. Since my house is full of my wife's friends, this seems like a good time to do it.”
“What's that, a second home?”
“Rental property, on First Street. It's not rented this week. Even though I have a management service that arranges for cleaning after each guest leaves, and takes inventory and reports damages, I still like to check on it after they've been through it.” He noticed the sparkle in her eyes and knew she was thinking she had struck pay dirt; that she'd found a man who had a few dollars to spend on her. “Want to come along? You can follow me in your car.”
“Yes, I'd like that. I'll just take me a few minutes to finish my drink.”
“Take your time.” No, that wouldn't do. He wanted to leave first so he could stop at a convenience store and get some condoms in case she could be easily convinced to give him some. “Maybe I should leave now, just to make it look a little better, since you know people here.”
“Good point. I don't believe in letting my coworkers know my business.”
He scribbled the address on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Finish your drink. Wait ten or fifteen minutes. I'll see you in a bit.”
“All right, Vic.”
Micheline's foot began to tap with a spring that hadn't been there before. So, Vic owned property on First Street. She knew enough about Beaches geography to know that was just a block from the beach. Vic might be the perfect man to suit her needs. She still saw Sean fairly regularly, but that relationship had long since lost its luster. He'd become such a cheapskate since he'd gotten his own place. All he wanted to do was come over with some KFC or cheap Chinese food and then get her in the sack.
Errol Trent continued to try to get her into bed, but she demurely refused, saying she didn't believe in premarital sex. The poor slug had no idea of what went on between her and Sean.
Micheline often satisfied her sexual appetite with the men she had no interest in marrying while putting off the ones who pursued her. Married men were particularly useful for this purpose due to their off-hours availability. The fact that they often felt compelled to buy her gifts to soothe the disappointment they mistakenly believed she experienced when they couldn't be with her was an extra benefit, and the more money they had, the nicer the gifts.
Vic certainly had a few bucks. He appeared older than any of the men she'd had affairs with, but he looked like he not only had it but knew how to use it to prime advantage.
She was about to find out.
 
 
The ground floor one-bedroom condo smelled fresh and clean. The pine wood furnishings with their natural dark stains successfully struck a balance between homey and impersonal.
After Vic showed it to her they returned to the living room and listened to smooth jazz on the radio. He had a little difficulty pinpointing the station and turned away from her while he adjusted the radio dial. Micheline took that opportunity to stretch out seductively on the floor pillows. “So tell me, Vic,” she asked when he turned to her, “have you ever cheated on your wife?”
 
 
Vic was on the verge of a monster orgasm, his third of the evening. He gripped Micheline's hips and pumped like crazy. God, she felt good. She actually reminded him a lot of Norell in the good old days before she became a business owner.
He cried out when he felt the beginning of his climax, and she met him with a shout. Afterward they collapsed on the bed. “My God, you're gonna give me a heart attack,” he said between gasps.
“If I do, you'd better hope you die. Your wife will never forgive you if she finds out what you were doing.”
He laughed. “You got that right.”
“It's getting late. I should be getting home.”
“I'll be happy to drive you if you're tired.”
She gave him a Mona Lisa smile. “And how will I get my car back?”
“I can bring you to get it after you've had a chance to rest.” She was still smiling, and he knew why. “I know what you're thinking. You think that if I knew where you lived I'd become a pest and start showing up at your door every five minutes, but I'm not. I'm not in the habit of doing this, Micheline.” It was true, at least partially. He had cheated regularly on Phyllis after she put on the first forty pounds, but this was the first time he had stepped out on Norell. It had been strictly for his ego; it really didn't mean anything. He'd just gotten fed up with feeling like he ranked last on her list of priorities.
“I appreciate that. I can drive myself, though. Ooh.”
“What's wrong?”
“I feel something.” She sat up, her fingers disappearing between her legs. “It's the condom. It must have unraveled. Oh, no.”
Vic sat up. After a quick glance downward he said, “I didn't even realize it was gone. Can I help you get it out?”
“No, I've got it.” Micheline removed the prophylactic, which had actually torn. This had never happened to her before. She felt a sudden sense of urgency. She'd better get home quickly so she could douche.
“I'm sure it'll be all right. I am sorry about that, though.” He'd forgotten how refreshing sex was when there was no agenda. Even after the unfavorable results of her fertility workup, Norell—when she wasn't drunk, that was—still put her legs up with her feet against the wall or bent her body in favor of her tilted uterus, trying to give Mother Nature a helping hand.

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