“No. Evidently Ginger didn't know the marks were there. Portia and I saw the bruises while she was modeling the suit she's wearing to church tomorrow; that is, if Ron even allows her to go to church. You know how he is.”
Anthony could only imagine how Celeste behaved when she saw Ginger's bruises.
“You didn't freak out did you, Celeste?”
Celeste was applying moisturizer to her face when she stopped and looked at her husband. “Heck, yeah, I freaked as I should have. What would you do if your best friend was getting his butt whipped all the time?”
That wasn't the first time that Anthony had to remind Celeste to stay out of Ginger's business. “Look, baby, you and Portia have to come to the conclusion that Ginger is an adult. You can't live her life or make decisions for her, nor can the two of you fight her battles. Yeah, Ron is a punk. But until Ginger decides that she's had enough of his crap, there's nothing you, Portia, or anyone else can do.
“My
concern is you. You're
my
wife, and I don't want you to have a stroke or develop ulcers over Ginger and Ron's issues. The only thing you can do for Ginger is pray for her and be there when she needs you.”
Tears ran down Celeste's face. “Portia and I took her to the police station, but she wouldn't even get out of the car. I went inside and got a female cop, a sister, and brought her to Ginger, but she sat in the backseat and wouldn't open her mouth. Portia and I looked like two fools.”
Anthony grabbed Celeste's hand and kissed her open palm. “You and Portia have been going through this with Ginger for years. Nothing will change until she faces reality and realize that it's up to her, and
only
her, to get away from him, so let's change the subject. How did your doctor's appointment go this morning?”
Celeste wiped the tears from her eyes. “And that's another thing that's getting on my nerves, Tony. I'm sick of being disappointed every month. We've gone to see three specialists, and none of them can tell us why we can't get pregnant. Today, Dr. Bindu took my temperature and gave me an ovulation predictor. He said that our best chances of becoming pregnant is between now and next Friday.”
Anthony stood behind Celeste and massaged her shoulders. What he didn't know was that his loving wife, the wife he cherished, the wife he desperately wanted to have a baby with, had just lied to him. “So, what are we waiting on?”
Celeste dismissed Anthony's question and asked one of her own. “What am I gonna do about Ginger?” She was not in a rush to make a baby because a baby would never be made, not if it meant her body had to be involved.
Anthony let out a loud sigh. “Celeste, I want you to let Ginger take care of Ginger. And I want you to come to bed so I can take care of you.”
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In her bedroom, Portia pressed the play button on her answering machine. She listened to her messages as she undressed.
“Hey, beautiful. What's up with you? It's me, David. I've been calling you all day. Hit me on my cell when you get in.” (Beep)
David insisted that Portia call him on his cellular phone. She wasn't worthy of his home number. Besides, his wife could answer.
“Hi, Portia. This is Greg. I've been trying to hook up with you for two weeks. What's up? Are you missing in action or what?” (Beep)
Every two weeks, like clockwork, when Gregory's wife gets a headache, he always wound up in Portia's bed.
“Portia, this is Richard. Why are you avoiding me? You think a brotha ain't got nothin' else better to do than track you down?” (Beep)
Three days ago, Portia received a dozen red roses at the car dealership where she works as an administrative assistant. The inside card read,
My dearest Tamara, I love you always, Richard.
Portia did a little detective work and found out that Tamara was Mrs. Richard Clark.
“Hello, Portia. This is Gary. I'm in town for a few days. Let's get together. Give me a call at my mother's house. 555-3743. I would love to see you.” (Beep)
Gary Stokes was stupid fine. He'd always been Portia's weakness.
Forty-five minutes later, Portia was standing at her stove unwrapping a king-sized milk chocolate Hershey's candy bar. She placed it into a small saucepan, then added two pats of butter. She heated the saucepan on low, then stirred the chocolate and butter until they blended well. On the sink next to the stove was a bowl of fresh, ripe, juicy sweet strawberries. Portia removed the melted chocolate from the heat, then dipped the strawberries, one by one, in the chocolate and laid them on a plate. She placed the plate in the freezer, then showered while the chocolate hardened. Fifteen minutes later, Portia removed the plate of strawberries from the freezer and set it on the sink next to an open bottle of Moscato. She filled a syringe with the wine and carefully inserted the needle into each strawberry and emptied the syringe. As she finished, she heard a soft knock on the front door and smiled.
She carried the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries into the living room with her.
Portia greeted Gary wearing a white sheer teddy and a smile. “Hi, there.”
Gary stood in the doorway looking as fine as he wanted to look. Six foot five inches of solid muscle walked past Portia and left a whiff of Pleasures in the wind. She shut the door and leaned against it, admiring Gary's short, wavy hair. His goatee blended nicely with his mustache. His caramel-colored skin was as smooth as silk.
“Umph, umph, umph. It's a shame your wife lets you travel alone.”
Gary's mischievous smiled melted Portia. “Why is that?”
“Because you don't know how to behave yourself.”
“That's not true. I'm always on my best behavior when I'm away on business. It's only when I come to Chicago that I get into trouble.”
Portia walked to Gary and wrapped her left arm around his neck while holding the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries in her right hand. “Is that what I am, âtrouble'?”
He pulled Portia's body closer to his. “With a capitol âT.' But you're the kind of trouble I don't mind getting
into
, if you know what I mean.”
Portia picked up a chocolate strawberry from the plate and inserted it into Gary's mouth. He bit into it, and when he tasted the wine, he smiled. “Um, yummy.”
Portia returned the smile. “You like?”
“I love.” Gary answered sinfully.
She set the plate of strawberries on the cocktail table and stood on her tippy toes to kiss Gary's forehead, his left cheek, and his right cheek. Portia took her time and ran her tongue along his mustache from left to right. Gary picked her up, and she wrapped her thighs around his waist. The married man carried Portia to her bedroom, and there wasn't any shame in their game.