Another Man Will (3 page)

“Todd, what are we doing?”

“I don't know.”

“You do know. What is this? Where are we going?”

“Uh, Dana, can we talk about this later?”

I said okay, but the minute he was in the shower, my brain started spinning again. I began to get angry and I decided I didn't want to spend the night. If he couldn't define us then I didn't want to be bothered with him anymore. I huffed loudly as I threw my dress over my head and slipped on my heels. Todd walked back in the bedroom in his open navy robe, brushing his teeth.

“Where are you going?” he asked with a mouth full of toothpaste.

“Home.”

“Why?”

“Because I can't keep getting hurt by you. I asked you a simple question, and you can't answer it.”

He stepped back in the bathroom and spat out the toothpaste and said, “That doesn't mean you have to leave.”

I didn't hesitate. I finished getting dressed and walked out the door.

“Dana, hold up,” Todd called. “Wait. Let me throw on some shorts and walk you to your car.”

The cool summer air was refreshing and woke me as I climbed in my white Honda Accord coupe. Todd made it to my car door just as I started the engine. I rolled down the window and waited for him to speak.

“Yes?” I said, staring straight ahead.

“What's wrong with you? Why do you always get like this? I told you I don't want a relationship, not with you or anyone else, right now. You know what we are.”

“No, I don't know. That's why I'm leaving.”

“Dana, you're being extra . . . Just call me when you get in.”

I wasn't thinking about Todd right now; he frustrated the hell out of me. I pulled out of the parking space and dialed Tiffany, my friend since college. We had been roommates at Maryland Eastern Shore. In college we shared books, food, clothes, and gained a lifelong friendship. If her mother sent something for her, it was for us, and vice versa. I missed college, the good old days, when I didn't have a lot of responsibility and every day was a party. Nowadays Tiffany was sometimes up in the middle of the night, doing lessons plans, preparing to deal with the twenty-one kindergarteners in her class, and we would talk. I took a chance and called her.

“What's wrong? Why are you calling this late?”

“Todd is the problem. I'm just leaving his house. He stood me up again, and then I asked him where our relationship was going and he acted like he couldn't speak.”

“Dana, he always does this to you. I don't like Todd for you anymore. He had all this time to get himself together and still hasn't. When are you going to realize it is never going to be the same?”

“I know. I was just hoping that maybe one day it would. That's what's kept me around. I hoped that one day he would change. He is everything I want in a man and husband. And I'm not in a rush to leave him, because what else is really out there, anyway?”

“You have a point, I guess. But is a little of something better than nothing?”

“I don't know.”

“You should think about it. Good night.”

 

 

I drove back to my apartment and went inside. Now that I was in my apartment, lying in my cream silky sheets alone I regretted leaving Todd's. I should have just continued my fantasy with Todd until morning. But no, I shouldn't have—because he was not giving me what I wanted. What I wanted was for a man to treat me like royalty. Like the love of his life. Like I'm the only thing that matters. Like how my daddy treated my mom. I wanted a good man who took care of his family, like my father.

My dad, James Turner, worked long hours at the Tastykake factory to provide for my mother, me, and my two sisters. Tastykake was a well known Philadelphia baking company. My dad would bring us home treats all the time, including Butterscotch Krimpets and lemon pies. Every time he got his paycheck, he would take all his girls out. And on our birthdays he would give us a hundred dollars and let us pick out whatever we wanted at Toys R Us. My dad was the closest thing to superman. He could do no wrong, and even now he still treated my mom like a queen and me and my sisters like princesses. I guess they didn't make them like him anymore.

 

 

It was morning, and I didn't have time to think about last night with Todd. I had to concentrate on my presentation at work. I was in my office's huge conference room. It had three large windows and a twenty-foot-long, shiny maple boardroom table that could seat ten on each side. I pulled down the projector and made sure everything was set up for my 10:00 a.m. meeting.

Reshma and I had thirty minutes left to prepare for our PowerPoint presentation. We were scrambling to get our notes together for our initial meeting with Cell Now. Cell Now was doing really well in the southwestern part of the country, and the company wanted to expand its services in the region stretching from Philadelphia to Atlanta. We planned to do a viral campaign through social media and have lunchtime contests and giveaways at local colleges. The service was good, but the phones were kind of cheap. Still, they were highly marketable to the eighteen-to-twenty-five demographic.

Our presentation went okay, though I flubbed a few lines of my prepared speech and then the computer kept freezing. I had to present most of the figures from memory, instead of being able to refer to all the attractive graphs and charts I had prepared. Overall, it still went well, I thought, as everyone from Cell Now exited the boardroom. They seemed excited about our ideas. I would know in a few days if they were going to go with our agency or not. I looked down at my cell phone. I had to hurry up and get to Eleventh Street to meet up with my sister Crystal.

“We are ordering food. Do you want Greek today?” Leah asked as she tapped on the door to my office.

“No, sorry. I have to go take care of something with my sister.”

“Is everything okay?” Leah asked.

“Yes, everything is fine.”

 

 

I arrived at the family court building to find it crowded, with long lines in every direction, and they made everyone go through a metal detector. I was truly annoyed by the way the horrible, power-hungry security people kept speaking to me. They were very demanding and questioned me. “Take off your earrings.” “Do you have any change in your pocket?” I gave a hefty security guard an evil stare, and he responded by saying, “Miss, I'm just doing my job.”

After the invasive security screening was over, I finally was able to go upstairs. I walked into the room and saw Crystal, her baby daddy, Kenneth, and his sister. I gave Kenneth and his sister both a stone-faced glance. I had to make sure they knew that my sister had support.

Kenneth should be executed for having the audacity to deny that he was Kori's biological father. However, Crystal should have known better than to mess with a nothing ass like Kenneth. Crystal was a classic example of a middle child. She wanted to save the world, be nice to all, and help everyone, but honestly she needed to save herself. Every relationship she had ended in disaster. And, of course, it was never her; the men she chose were always the ones to be blamed. But I blamed her for picking such horrible men. She believed everyone had the best intentions for her, and obviously, they didn't. I'd been telling her this her whole life. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was not adopted, because it didn't seem possible that two people who were less than two years apart and had been raised in the same household could turn out so differently.

C
HAPTER
3

Yvette Turner-McKnight

S
ome women hated to walk past groups of men, because no matter what you were wearing, they found a way to objectify you. I wasn't one of those women. I would not say I welcomed it, but I couldn't help the way I was built. Early on, I just embraced it. I had always been tall for my age and built like a little woman, my mother would say. My father would always try to make me wear baggy clothes and didn't like the way boys looked at me, wanted to walk me home, and rang the phone for me. He hated it so much, he tried to keep me under his supervision as much as possible. I was not allowed to spend the night at the house of a friend who had brothers, and I could never get off the porch. All my dad's efforts were in vain, because I was still boy crazy. I moved out and married at eighteen and left my younger sister, Crystal, to deal with my punishment. My dad put a tighter vise grip on her life. She couldn't do anything or go anywhere. That didn't work, either, because she got pregnant early and the dad went to jail. By the time they got to my baby sister, Dana, my dad had refined his approach and molded her into the perfect overachiever.

I walked past a group of men who worked at the same place I did. They were dressed in dark blue Dickies pants, work boots, and T-shirts and were leaning against the dingy white work truck. They were staring at my short, tight, tan pencil skirt and my navy and white short-sleeved blouse. The most noticeable glance came from Hector. His eyes were roaming up and down my legs, and he didn't look away, which made me feel slightly uncomfortable. I had asked him before not to stare at me like that.

As I made my way past them, one of them called out, “Yo, Miss McKnight. Can you tell Frank we are burning up in these work trucks? They need to be serviced. It's ninety degrees outside. They have to get this AC fixed. I shouldn't be sweating like this when they got all that money.”

“Okay, I will. I'll let him know.”

“Please, 'cause someone should tell him that air-conditioning is not a luxury. It is a necessity.”

“Okay. I'll call him as soon as I go in the building.”

“Miss McKnight, I have to give you my time sheet,” Hector said.

I didn't bother to turn around. I just kept walking and said, “Make sure you get it to me by the end of today.”

I sashayed off of the showroom floor, filled with hanging rugs on display and living room, bedroom, and dining room sets, and headed upstairs to my office. I worked as the front office/human resources manager—and any other title they decided to give me—for Zinoloi Rugs, Carpets, and Exotic Furniture, with seven locations in New Jersey, Delaware, and Pennsylvania. Mr. Zinoloi, the owner, was really nice and gave me a job almost nine years ago, and then he retired and his son, Frank, took over and started cutting corners everywhere he could, like not getting the air-conditioning fixed in the work trucks. I entered my spacious office and dialed him. He never answered, so I left him a message.

“Hey, Frank. Listen, the guys are complaining that they don't have air in the trucks. Please give me a call so I can get approval to have them repaired.” Before I could complete my sentence, Hector walked up to me, grabbed my butt, and lightly bit my lip. He was a twenty-four-year-old, sexy-ass Puerto Rican from Kensington—a rough North Philly neighborhood. He had a low, wavy haircut and a trail of colorful bad-boy tattoos going down both of his muscular arms. From afar, someone would mistake Hector for a thug, but he was not one. He was one of the sweetest men I knew. He would be my man if I hadn't married and wasn't now divorced, and if he were a few years older and didn't have a girlfriend and a kid. Because of all our obstacles, he had to be content with just being my YB, or young boy.

“You better be careful and make sure no one followed you up here,” I warned.

“They didn't. They made a McDonald's run. So we have, like, ten minutes.”

“Uh-huh. Where is the time sheet?”

“Right here,” he said as he patted his pocket, where part of a bulge was visible.

“Stop playing.”

“I'm not playing. The way your ass was moving in that skirt . . . it took everything in me not to grab you. How's my lady doing, anyway?” he asked as his hands glided up my skirt massaging my ass.

“She's great. She misses you.”

“Tell her I was thinking about her this morning in the shower.”

“Okay, I'll be sure to let her know.”

“When can I see her again?”

I walked from beside him and said, “Hector, I have a lot going on. I don't know. Sometime soon.”

“How you going to give her to me, then take it away?”

“I'm not taking her away for good, but she can't right now. Hello. I just went through a divorce, Hector. I'll call you tomorrow. We will get together then. I promise you. Right now I have a lot of work to do.”

He gave me a kiss on my cheek and told me he was holding me to my promise. I had a seat at my desk and began to prepare checks to pay a few dozen invoices. My work phone rang and interrupted my work flow. I hoped it was Frank approving those new air conditioners. But it wasn't; it was my best friend Geneva. “Are you going to come to Caribana and party with us Trini style?” Geneva asked with a fake island accent.

“I told you I can't go to Canada. I have so much going on right now.”

“Vette, you need this trip. Every year I go, and every year when I come back, you complain that you should have gone. This is going to be the closest we'll ever get to Carnival. You're a newly divorced woman that needs some fun in her life. Plus, we want this to be your divorce party weekend.”

“My divorce party weekend,” I repeated back to her. “Who came up with that idea?”

“Stacey did. She is getting you a cake with a dead groom to sit on top of it.”

“A dead groom. Really? You know what? That actually doesn't sound like a bad idea. Can you put the real dead ex on a cake, too, for me?” I laughed.

“Vette, you are crazy. Come on and go. We're going to have fun. Please come.”

“It sounds like fun, but I have a few things called bills standing in the way. This is my rent check.”

“What about your check from the house?”

“That check didn't come yet. It will be here any day. I have to call the Realtor.”

“Vette, come on. You haven't been anywhere this summer. It will be fun with all three of us. You are going to miss it. Think about it.... When will be the next time all of us will be able to get out of town at the same time?”

“I don't know. Probably never.”

“You're right—never—so you have to go.”

“Let me see what I can do. Maybe I can pay everything when I get back. I'll think about it. Who's driving?”

“Stacey is driving.”

“Good. Because you drive too slow. Give me a minute. I'll call you back.”

I giggled a little at the thought of a divorce party and the fact that I was thirty-three years old and about to be twice divorced. If you started as early as I did, it was easy. I married my first boyfriend straight out of high school. He was leaving for the army, and I wanted to go with him, so we got married. Six years later I had two children and was divorced. I couldn't blame Doug for anything; it wasn't his fault that it didn't work. I was bored with him and tired of moving all around the world, and I cheated on him. Now, looking back, I should have worked it out. He was a very good man. My first ex-husband now lived in Panama City, Florida. The kids had just gotten back from spending their summer vacation with him. He was a good guy and father. He sent me money for them and coparented from afar.

I went into my second marriage like I was going to make it work and be a good wife. What a mistake! His ass cheated on me like crazy. My ex-husband Phil was a bus driver for SEPTA, and in case you didn't know, bus drivers had fans and groupies, too. Their fans were the ladies that sat daily in the front of the bus and talked their ear off the entire ride. Well, one young girl took a liking to my husband, and, well, he couldn't resist. She was only nineteen and was so in love, she knocked on my door, claiming she was pregnant by my man. This little girl knew everything about me—where I worked, my schedule, my kids' names, what kind of car I drove—and she said she had been to my house several times. So of course I wanted to leave my husband for cheating on me. But when I confronted him, he assured me it was over.

Most women that got cheated on were somewhere crying and asking why. I did the opposite: he cheated on me, and I said, “Oh, that ain't nothing, boo. I'll cheat on you, too, and I'll do it better.” So when the opportunity presented itself for me to get revenge, I did . . . with Hector. Phil knew how to give it but couldn't take it. The minute he learned I had an affair, the world was over. I'd forgotten to turn my ringer off, and Hector had texted me all these messages from YB on my phone. They said that he was falling in love with me and couldn't wait to fuck me again. I came out of the shower, and Phil was in tears. He cried, “How could you? How could you think about being with another man? What? I don't satisfy you?”

I didn't know what to say. I tried to tell him I cheated because he did, but he was furious and was not trying to hear my argument. We had a long discussion that night, and he said he forgave me. I believed him at first, but then he would come in the house, slamming things and picking fights with me. Of course, I always said, “You cheated first!” But all he could say to that was “I'm a man.” I guess that meant he got a pass and I didn't. He constantly questioned me about what YB stood for and who YB was, but I told him it didn't matter and we should work on our marriage. I promised him the cheating was a one-time occurrence and not a full-fledged affair. He would have died if he knew it was with someone on the job.

And I think our other issue was jealousy and him wanting to compete with me. He was envious of the relationships I had with my parents and my sisters. He would always tell me I was lucky I had good parents, because his mother and father had neglected him and had let him raise himself. His parents chose drugs over him and I think he almost resented the fact that my parents were there for me. Then there were other signs throughout our entire relationship. For instance, if I said I was thinking about going to the gym, then he suddenly got interested in lifting weights. If I said I was thinking about buying something, he would go buy the bigger, better version. We were having a lot of problems, and we finally went to counseling. I thought it would save us, because for a little while everything got good again, but it didn't last. Then reality set in: Phil would never get over the fact that another man had touched his wife.

So, after all the cheating and counseling, we decided to just get a divorce. We agreed on no high lawyer fees; we did a do-it-yourself divorce. It wasn't like we were rich, and we didn't have a whole bunch of possessions. The only thing we gained in our marriage was our house. Our house was a brick single-family home in Cheltenham. It was on a tree-lined street, with a big front lawn and a double garage. It was a few minutes outside of Philly, but it seemed like it was miles away. Our neighborhood wasn't affected by the recession, and we were fortunate enough to have equity in our house. I wanted to stay in the house, but we both needed the money to move on with our lives. We were going to split the profit and then go our separate ways. My share was twenty-five thousand dollars, and with that money I planned to find a house to rent, pay my daughter Mercedes's tuition for the year, get a nice used car, fix my credit up, treat me and the kids to a few things, and put the rest up.

In the meantime, while I waited to go to the real estate settlement, I got a temporary small apartment with a month-to-month lease and put most of my big things in storage. All of this divorce stuff was so aggravating. I regretted meeting and marrying my ex Phil. I regretted our big, expensive wedding. Had I known I would be divorced after only three years of marriage, we would have just said “I do” at city hall.

During the drive home I realized Geneva was right; the summer was almost over and I hadn't been anywhere. My rent was due, but I could pay my landlord as soon as I got back with my next check. I needed to go on this trip. I called Phil to find out our exact settlement date. I hated his voice, the way each syllable came out of his mouth.

He didn't say hello or anything. He just answered, “Yeah, we are going to the settlement sometime next week.”

“Okay. Well, I wasn't calling only about that. I was making sure you were okay, too.”

“I'm fine. Yvette, don't act like you like me or even care about me. When I get the exact date and time, I'll call you,” he grumbled, and then the phone went silent. He was a nasty, miserable-ass man. That was exactly why I was happy. I wasn't with him anymore.

I dialed my mom to see if Brandon and Mercedes could stay with her and my father for a few days. My father answered the phone, and I put on my baby voice, which had worked on him since I was three.

“Daddy, where's Mommy?”

“She is in the living room. Why? What do you need?”

“I don't need anything, Daddy. I was just wondering if maybe the kids could come over for a few days.”

“Uh, I don't see why not. Sure, no problem. Where are you going?”

“Just getting out of town for a bit. You know, with the divorce and everything, Geneva thought it would be a good idea for us to get away and relax.”

“Yeah, that sounds good, and I'll be home this weekend. Your mother won't mind. You can bring the kids. We'll probably get Nasir and Jewel, too.”