Secret Indiscretions (6 page)

“I
think he's cheating on me,” Geneva said to Donetta as she stood in front of the oval mirror, styling her pixie-cut hair with a generous amount of mousse.

“Of course he is,” Donetta said, not holding back. “He's a damn dog who's sneaky as a fuckin' snake.”

“I didn't want to believe it, but now I have no other choice.”

It was seven thirty in the morning, and Geneva and Donetta were the only two stylists in Hair Heaven, the chic salon where they worked. Rachel Miller, the owner and manager who was a retired stylist in her late sixties, only came by the salon once every other week, which gave the stylists free rein that most salon employees didn't experience. The shop didn't open until eight, which gave the two friends a half hour to talk before the listening ears and gossiping tongues of coworkers and clients interrupted them.

Donetta sighed. “Honey, I'm just glad you've finally come to your senses about that triflin', no-good excuse for a man that you call your husband.”

“Me too.”

“I hate to say I told you so, but . . .”

“You're going to do it anyway.”

Donetta nodded, fingering her long, razor-cut brown hair as she spoke. “Yes I am, 'cause the man's a pussy hound and can't possibly be trusted. I don't know why it's taken you so long to finally realize what I've been saying.”

Geneva fluffed her bangs and nodded in agreement as she spoke. “Because of how you are,” she said. “That's why it took a while for me to understand.”

“Oh, and how am I?”

“I love you, you know that I do. But you're very negative and you've never said a kind word or positive thing about Johnny, or hardly any man, for that matter, since I've known you. You're just bitter.”

Donetta blinked her long lashes and paused, as if in deep thought. “That may be true, but it doesn't stop me from being right. And let's face it, I'm right most of the time.”

“Yes, I have to admit, you are.” Geneva continued to style her bangs, giving them a tousled look before lightly spritzing them with a mist of hair sheen. She took a deep breath and then sat in her chair, facing Donetta. She slumped her shoulders and shook her head. “I've been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You're not stupid. What you are is trusting. You loved him.”

“Love makes you do some crazy, out-of-your-mind things. I tried giving Johnny the benefit of the doubt. I looked past things that I knew in my heart weren't right. But I wanted my marriage to work. I wanted him to change, and I thought if I tried a little harder, maybe he would. I've supported him and encouraged him. I've taken care of him, and I've tried to satisfy his needs so he wouldn't have to look outside our marriage for fulfillment. But none of that mattered to him. I feel horrible and I wish I could go back home, pull the covers over my head, and cry.”

Donetta walked over to Geneva, reached for her hand, and held it tightly. “You might feel like shit right now, but honey, trust me, you'll get over it.”

Geneva looked down at the floor. “I don't know, Donetta.”

“You're saying that now because everything's still fresh. Give it some time, you'll be singing a different song before you know it.”

“I feel unattractive and unwanted.”

“That bastard really did a number on you,” Donetta said with a hint of sadness. “Don't let him break your spirit or question your worth. Your pretty ass looks like a million bucks. Your hair is fly, your makeup is flawless, and you're working the hell outa those jeans. So hold your head up high, kick that sorry-ass, chicken eatin' Negro to the curb, and start enjoying your life.”

Geneva couldn't help but smile. She was thankful for Donetta, and as she looked into her friend's piercing hazel-colored eyes—compliments of Bausch and Lomb contacts—she knew she couldn't ask for a better person to stand by her side during times of trouble. From the day they met in cosmetology school ten years ago when Geneva had relocated, they'd hit it off and been best friends ever since.

Geneva was disappointed that Johnny had never cared for Donetta, which she'd initially thought was because of her friend's alternative lifestyle. But slowly she'd come to realize that his dislike for Donetta had stemmed from the fact that Donetta had sized him up and called him out for being no good. “Watch that sneaky bastard,” she'd said from the moment she'd laid eyes on Johnny.

Donetta Pierce, whose birth name was Donald Eric Pierce, looked, walked, talked, and acted like a woman. But when it came to knowing men and their ways, she was one hundred percent male, and one hundred and ten percent right, ninety-nine percent of the time.

Donetta was a transgender diva who spoke her mind and didn't give a damn about what people said or thought about her or her choices. At six-foot-two and 190 pounds of lean muscle, toned arms, and long legs that seemed to extend a mile, Donetta was a well built, striking man who was blessed with smooth, cinnamon colored skin and natural good looks. But with fashionable blond highlights that complemented the chestnut brown weave that hung down her back, neatly arched brows that accentuated her feline-shaped eyes, and perfectly manicured French-tip nails that showcased her slender fingers, she was an equally attractive woman. Today she was wearing a stylish navy and white boatneck shirt and slim-fitting navy capris that made her look as if she'd just stepped out of a Banana Republic ad.

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up,” Geneva said with a smile.

“Honey, I'm just speaking the truth. Forget Johnny and his tired, played-out ass.”

“You're right, and I shouldn't even be thinking about him. But he's my husband.”

“He's a fucking mistake.”

“I just can't believe he'd do this to me. I could almost understand him treating me this way if I wasn't good to him, or if I was a horrible wife. But I've done nothing but love him and try to please him. This hurts so much.”

Donetta softened her eyes. “What happened that made you finally open your eyes? . . . Did you catch him with someone?”

“Not exactly.” Geneva recounted last night's event, giving a blowby-blow of what had happened. “He didn't even bother to come back home last night.”

Donetta shook her head. “That sorry bastard had the nerve to stay out all night?”

“Yes, all night. He finally came home this morning as I was filling my coffee mug. I was so angry and hurt that I didn't say a word to him, and he didn't speak to me, either.”

“Y'all just avoided each other?”

“Yes, that's exactly what we did. I looked him straight in the eye but he wouldn't even glimpse in my direction.” Geneva shook her head. “Honestly, I wanted to kill him, and if I'd had a gun . . .”

Donetta sucked her teeth. “I wish I'd known; you could've borrowed mine.”

Geneva knew her friend was completely serious because Donetta didn't play when it came to exacting revenge. She'd sent more than one lover to the hospital for doing her wrong.

“What hurt so bad,” Geneva continued, “was the way he ignored me, like I wasn't even there. He walked straight back to the bedroom, and when I heard the water from the shower, I couldn't get out the door fast enough.” Geneva wiped away a small tear that had run down her cheek. “He was probably washing off the scent of the woman he was with last night.”

Donetta sat down in her chair, crossed her long legs, and perched her elbows atop her right knee. “Get it out, honey.”

“I just feel so empty. So confused.”

“It's a damn shame that he did this to you. His sorry ass reminds me of Eric,” Donetta said, referring to her ex, who'd ended up in the hospital at her hands after a lover's quarrel that had turned deadly. The only reason the man hadn't pressed charges was because he didn't want his wife to find out that he'd been creeping.

Geneva sniffled and pulled a bottle of Visine from her station drawer. She put two drops in each eye and blinked rapidly. “I've got to pull myself together before those doors open.”

“When are you moving out? You know you have to divorce his ass, don't you?”

“It's not that easy, Donetta. We've built a life together.”

“No you haven't. You've been a footstool that he constantly steps on. That's not building a life with someone, that's tearing down someone's spirit. You shouldn't be walking around here feeling defeated or shedding a single tear over his sorry ass, 'cause I guarantee you that bastard isn't losing a minute of sleep over what he's done to you.”

Geneva knew that her friend was right, and it made her feel even worse. She wanted Johnny to suffer and feel the same kind of hurt she was going through. She wanted him to feel remorse and agonize over what he'd done. She wanted him to regret his actions and come running through the door to beg her forgiveness. She wanted him to do anything that showed he cared. But she knew the reality was that none of those things would happen. The love they'd once had for each other had faded.

Geneva reached back into the top drawer of her workstation and pulled out a mini box of Godiva Gold Ballotins. Godiva was her favorite chocolate, and whenever she felt down she knew the delicious confections could lift her spirits.

“You and your chocolate,” Donetta teased.

“It's the one thing I know I can count on.”

“You better include me in that mix.”

Geneva nodded. “Yes, Donetta, you're right up there with my ballotins and truffles.”

Just then the door opened, and she and Donetta both looked toward the entrance at the same time. Geneva half hoped it was Johnny, but it was only Shartell Brown, the nosiest, most gossiping stylist in the entire salon, and quite possibly the entire town.

All the other stylists, including Geneva and Donetta, had secretly nicknamed Shartell “Ms. CIA,” because she had intel on everyone in Amber—even folks she didn't know by name. It was a given that if you wanted to know about the hottest scandals, latest break-ups, most recent makeups, and everyone's screw-ups, Shartell had it covered. Whenever she said the four words, “Quiet as it's kept,” everyone knew she was getting ready to lay down some serious gossip.

Shartell was outrageous in every way. From her long, auburn-colored weave, to her one inch acrylic tips, to the neon-colored, tight-fitting clothes she stuffed her size-twenty figure into, Shartell was loud, daring, and often brash in her behavior. She was definitely an acquired taste, and regardless of whether people liked her or not, the one thing no one could deny was that her information was always accurate. She never told a lie or exaggerated a situation beyond the facts of what actually happened, which served to make her gossip as solid as steel. If she told you something, it could be trusted.

“Good morning, ladies,” Shartell said, her thick Southern drawl oozing like molasses. She stomped her way toward her workstation, which was right beside Geneva's. “I wish we had an elevator in this shop,” she panted, out of breath. “The walk up that flight of steps is a workout and a half, and on hot days like this one it can wear you out.” She removed her black, horn-rimmed sunglasses from her round face and squinted her large brown eyes. “Did I interrupt something? Looks like you two were having a pretty serious conversation. Is everything all right?” she asked, looking back and forth between Geneva and Donetta.

Donetta leaned to the side and placed her hand on her hip. “Heffa, you nosey as hell.”

“Yes, that's true,” Shartell said with a big smile, not the least bit offended. “But you still haven't answered my question.”

“I can't go there with you right now,” Donetta said with a roll of her eyes. “You need to sit down somewhere and mind your own business.”

Shartell smirked. “Y'all know I'm gonna eventually find out what's up, so why don't you just go ahead and tell me now.”

“Why don't you just wipe that cheap-ass lipstick off your two front teeth and concentrate on setting up your station for your clients, instead of worrying about what the hell we're talking about.”

Shartell ran her stubby finger across her teeth and smacked her lips. “Kiss my ass, Donetta.”

Geneva stepped in. “Shartell, please give it a rest today. This isn't the time.”

Shartell slowly removed her designer handbag from her shoulder. “Oh, my . . . Geneva, you seem a little testy today.” She scratched her head and looked Geneva up and down. “Somethin's going on with you, sugar. You're the only person in this whole salon who's always happy, and don't nothin' bother you. But right now you look like somebody just stole your last piece of candy out your precious Godiva box. Yes, somethin's definitely wrong.”

Geneva took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. She'd started her morning on the wrong foot and now Shartell was making it worse. “I asked you nicely. Now please, Shartell, give it a rest.”

“Are you having problems at home with Johnny or something?” Shartell persisted. “I know that look, and it's got man troubles written all over it. And after all, you are married to Johnny Mayfield,” she said, ending her words with a sigh.

Geneva looked as though someone had just told her they could see through her clothes as she wondered what Ms. CIA knew about her husband and his activities. “Why do you say that?” she asked defensively.

“Don't feed into her wicked web,” Donetta chided as she looked from Geneva to Shartell. “It doesn't make any sense for one person to be so damn messy. Your mouthy ass always gotta be stirring up shit. That's why people don't like you.”