Doin' Me (12 page)

Unbelievable,
he thought. Tyson now understood how Jewel and Pastor Rosalie Jennings had managed a thirty-year friendship. They could teach a course in manipulation.

“Ms. Mills,” he stated firmly so she wouldn't take his words lightly, “I will not give you Reyna's address. Neither will I deliver a message to her. I will not drive you over there. I will not be placed in the middle of your and Reyna's feud.”

Tyson restrained a chuckle when Jewel's mouth opened but no words followed. Her bewildered expression communicated that she hadn't expected a direct answer. Finally, she closed her mouth and relaxed back in the chair.

Tyson leaned back and rested his right foot on his left knee. He intertwined his fingers, but before he could prop them above his head, Mother Scott's tambourine, combined with a chorus of “Praise the Lord Everybody,” echoed down the hallway.

Tyson welcomed the joy that enveloped him, and embraced the moment. Uncharacteristically, he stood and gave public thanks to God, then trotted off to meet his godson.

Reyna slammed her desk drawer closed, then proceeded to shut down her computer. Business at the real estate office was usually slow the last Friday of the month. Today was no exception. The calm before the storm, she called it. Monday morning her desk would be cluttered with clients' rental payments and her voice mail would be full of messages from clients with excuses for why their rent would be late. She'd heard it all, from “I lost my job” to “My job messed up my check.” Her favorite excuse was “The dog ate my last check.”

The phone rang, but she let the call go to voice mail, figuring it was the parade of excuses getting off to an early start. She concentrated on her number one priority: getting home early to fix a surprise dinner for Peyton to commemorate one month of living together.

Cohabitating with Peyton left much to be desired, but being determined to make it work, Reyna accentuated the positive. His presence had given her the security she needed after the break-in. He contributed to the food and utility bills, and she hoped he'd cover the upcoming rent payment so she could put some money away to replace the items stolen during the burglary. He still didn't have his own transportation. He did, however, have what appeared to be a phobia to water. Peyton bathed on average twice a week, but only after Reyna stated his natural scent offended her.

Only after Peyton moved in with only two suitcases did she realize he didn't own any possessions. “The furnishings at your place are much nicer than mine,” he'd said when she asked about the furniture he'd left in his old apartment. She had never seen the furniture, or the apartment, for that matter, but doubted anything would be nicer than Tyson's custom pieces. She accepted his explanation without question.

Although Reyna didn't have much say in the matter of transportation, since Peyton didn't have a car, the two quickly fell into a daily routine. Peyton would take her to work and then would drive into the city to meet clients. On most days, he'd return in time to pick Reyna up at work. She now owned a monthly bus pass for the days Peyton's meetings went over, which was often. Their physical activity had decreased slightly, thanks mainly to Peyton's special evening clients. Reyna didn't miss it at all. Ironically, having Peyton for a companion didn't quench her desire for companionship. Something was missing, and tonight she hoped to discover what it was.

“You must have big plans for this weekend,” Paige said from the entranceway just as Reyna reached for her blazer. “I assume this is so since you're taking the afternoon off.”

Explaining that her weekend didn't promise anything special wasn't something Reyna wanted to do with her boss. The rough edges had been smoothed over since Reyna had remained punctual, but they weren't friends. “Thanks. We're driving up to Mendocino for the weekend,” she lied. Her car probably couldn't make the three-hour drive with all the miles Peyton had clocked on it. Nowadays the three-thousand-mile /three-month oil change rolled around in half the normal time.

“It's beautiful up there. Enjoy.” Paige turned and left.

Reyna stared at her retreating back.
That could be me,
she thought as envy and bitterness surged through her. Reyna wanted the authority and power Paige represented. “One day I'll have it all,” she whispered, then glanced at her watch. She had four minutes to make it to the bus stop if she wanted to stay on schedule for the romantic dinner celebration.

Ninety-minutes later, Reyna stumbled into the subdivision, trying to balance her purse, grocery bags, and a bottle of wine while walking in four-inch heels. She nearly lost her balance when she turned the corner leading to her unit and saw her car parked in the driveway. It was two o'clock in the afternoon. Peyton should be at work.

She steadied herself and walked purposefully to the front door. With each forward step, she wanted to run ten steps in the opposite direction, but she had to confront Peyton. By the time she sat the bags and the wine bottle down on the porch, she'd convinced herself that Peyton had come home early to plan a surprise of his own.

“Hello, Reyna,” the neighbor adjacent to her called from his rosebushes before she inserted the key into the lock. “It's a beautiful day, isn't it?”

She imitated happiness, which she didn't feel. “It's a great day,” she answered with a smile. She turned back toward the door.

“Did Peyton get that big flat-screen TV fixed yet?”

The keys fell to the ground. She wasn't aware Peyton and her neighbor were on a first-name basis.

“I recommended my brother's shop. He does great work, but he said Peyton never showed up.”

She eyed the neighbor suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

The neighbor stood upright and adjusted his hat to shield his face from the sun. “I saw him loading the TV into your trunk a while back. He told me the picture appeared distorted. I told him about my brother's shop. My brother would have fixed it for a little of nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But like I said, Peyton never showed up.”

“Are you sure you have the right person? This is a big subdivision, and it's easy to get people mixed up,” Reyna observed, hoping the man was mistaken.

His eyebrows narrowed, like he'd been insulted. “You're right. It is a big subdivision, but only one blue-eyed white guy with a ponytail lives next door to me.” His face softened. “If you need anything, let me know. Have a good day.”

Reyna bent over to retrieve the keys and then gripped her stomach to combat the sudden wave of nausea. The neighbor's revelations couldn't be right. She refused to believe Peyton had removed the TV without her permission and then had allowed her to think it had been stolen. Peyton was her man, and she trusted him.
The old man is mistaken,
she decided and proceeded to unlock the door. Three steps inside the foyer Reyna learned that vision and memory didn't always dim with age.

Peyton wasn't at work, and he wasn't planning a celebration for them, either. However, the neat white lines on the coffee table provided a surprise she doubted she'd ever forget.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a voice so low, Reyna wondered if she'd only thought the words.

Peyton's deep blue eyes, shielded by a glossy haze, peered up at her for only a second. “What does it look like I'm doing?”

In stunned silence she watched him use what resembled a glass straw to transport the white substance into his nose with precision. This wasn't his first time. Now she knew what was in that tan pouch he carried everywhere.

“Get out!” she sneered. “Pack your bags and get . . . out of my house.”

Hoarse laughter poured from Peyton for so long, Reyna thought he'd choke. That would save her the trouble of killing him for bringing drugs into her home.

“I mean it, you lying thief.” She pointed toward the door. “Get out of my house. I'm not playing,” she added when he continued laughing.

“Shut up and sit your broke behind down, before I knock you down. You're messing up my high. This isn't your house, remember? The only thing you own is that raggedy car parked outside, which, by the way, needs a tune-up. You don't even own your body. I own that. But lately, even that hasn't been good. I'm only with your sorry butt because I'm between jobs right now. “

“I thought you worked in the bank?”

His laughter boomed louder. “Are you really that stupid? What banker only works three hours a day? I haven't worked as a banker since I moved here from Oregon.”

She was afraid to ask but needed to know what he'd been doing with her car every day. “What do you do all day?”

“Mind my business, which is what you need to do.”

“Why did you steal from me?”

The booming laughter changed to chuckles, but his eyes remained glossy and his cheeks flaming red. “Do you really want to know?”

She nodded and wrapped her arms around her waist, bracing for the answer.

“You got it all wrong. I didn't steal anything from you. You”—he pointed at her—“don't own anything. You're just a wannabe and you're not too smart and you're too easy. The owner of this place won't miss the few items I took. I did him a favor. I gave Mr. Big Shot a tax write-off.”

Reyna stared at him, wondering how he could laugh while saying those horrible words. Cocaine must work like a truth serum for him. She had learned more about him in the past five minutes than she'd learned the entire time they'd been together. She'd been playing house with a stranger. Every aspect of the life she'd manufactured crumbled, and so did her heart. Peyton didn't care about her. In the process of doin' herself, she'd got done.

“Leave now!” When he didn't move, Reyna grabbed the cordless phone. “I'm calling the police.”

“You're not calling anybody!” He wasn't laughing anymore.

The phone tumbled from her hand as she fell to the floor, reeling from Peyton's backhand slap across the face and from being called a female dog for the first time. She tried to brace herself against the ottoman, but Peyton yanked her head back and grabbed her by the throat.

“Do you hear me?” he snarled in her ear. “I'm not going anywhere, and you're not calling anyone. We're in this together. Got it?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, fearing he'd choke her. The ferocious look in his eyes suggested he could do just that.

He pulled her to her feet by the throat and began grinding against her and kissing her face. Reyna attempted to pull away, and he tightened his hold. “Are you trying to get away from me? I told you, you belong to me. Not that you're worth anything.”

Reyna didn't have an answer that wouldn't result in more contact with the back of his hand or his fist. She was stuck at the mercy of a drug-controlled madman. Peyton could kill her, and no one would know. She hadn't told her mother where she lived, and Tyson wouldn't think to check on her until the five-day grace period for the rent had expired. Even Paige wouldn't miss her until Monday morning. Wanting to do her own thing, Reyna had alienate everyone in her life. She bit her lower lip and let the tears flow.
God, please don't let my life end like this,
she prayed inwardly to a God she no longer believed in.

Peyton released her throat, and she forced oxygen into her lungs. Maybe he was on his way down, coming back to his senses. Her hope vanished when he ripped open her blouse and groped her roughly.

“Stop!”

“Shut up!” Peyton pushed her to the floor and hiked up her skirt. “I'm going to remind you who the boss is around here.”

She crossed her legs tightly and shielded her face from another blow.

“Open your legs!”

Dazed from a blow to the head, Reyna yielded to his demands. She closed her eyes and mentally tried to remove herself from the abuse about to occur. At the sound of his belt buckle hitting the glass table, she imagined she was at Disneyland, spinning in the teacups, laughing. Then the knocking—more like banging—started.

“Reyna! Reyna!”

Her name was being called by a voice she didn't readily recognize. The banging intensified, but only after Peyton ordered, “Don't move. I'll be right back,” did she realize the banging was real and not a fantasy. Someone was at the front door.

Cautiously, her eyes followed Peyton's shirtless body to the foyer. She didn't know the identity of the uninvited visitor, but she planned to use the intrusion to her advantage. With what strength she had left, she removed her shoes and straightened her skirt, then stood and walked over to the fireplace and removed a poker. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she gripped the deadly object. She had never played baseball and didn't know the mechanics of a good swing, but she figured one hard blow to the head would deliver her from Peyton's evil. Or better yet, the weapon would intimidate him and he'd leave of his own accord. She heard the front door close and lifted the poker to striking position. Tremors shook her body, but she held the poker steady.

“That was your nosy neighbor,” Peyton said, walking past her into the kitchen. “You left these grocery bags outside on the porch.”

She stared at the bags as he placed them on the center island. In a rush to confront Peyton, she'd totally forgotten about them. The dinner and celebration, it all seemed like an obscure dream now. In hindsight, her life with Peyton had been a nightmare.

She lowered the poker but kept enough distance between herself and Peyton just in case she needed to strike if he was transformed once again. Moments earlier he had tried to rape her; now he whistled as he put away groceries.

After putting the last item away, he turned to face her. “You forgot the eggs and a few other things I need.” He walked past her and retrieved his shirt from the floor. She remained motionless while he buttoned his shirt and removed her car key from the hook. He reached the door and then turned back like he'd forgotten something.

“I'm going out for a while, See you later,” he said after collecting his paraphernalia in that tan pouch.

The force of his tongue pressing against her mouth combined with his stale breath sent rolling waves of nausea through her. Before she could gag, he was gone.

The tremors that shook her commingled with the nausea and sent her running to the guest bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach. Self-reliant and independent, Reyna now knew the taste of fear and degradation. With each heave, a bitter taste rested on her taste buds. Gargling and rinsing removed the tangible residue but did nothing to ease the insecurity and anxiety.

With shaky fingers, she fumbled with the remaining buttons on her blouse and removed the remnants of it, then discarded them in the trash. Using the vanity to support her weight, she turned on the faucet and reached for a washcloth but stopped short of wetting it. The image captured by the mirror temporarily paralyzed her. Even her tears ceased to fall. The disheveled hair and the swollen jaw and lip were a far cry from beauty marks. At that moment, Reyna felt uglier than the image staring back at her. Until today,
stupid
wasn't an adjective she'd use to describe herself, but the reflection said otherwise.