The Crossover (5 page)

“So, did Marc recover from his PTSD?” I asked as I licked the steak juice off my fingers.

“He’s better now. I think getting into bodybuilding helped him vent some of that pent-up guilt and anger. He’s huge and at 6’2” I was no match for him that last night.”

I froze with my fork in my mouth. I really didn’t want to hear what happened but I had to know.

“Okay, tell me what happened.”

“Clay, it was over something petty but he lost it. We got into an argument over a
Facebook
post from one of his exes from high school. He backhanded me at the dinner table and dared me to talk back to him. When a man puts his hands on you the first time it’s never the last time. I wasn’t going to give him a second chance. So I asked him to leave… for good,” Monet said, with sadness.

“Clay, Marc knows about our affair in 1991.”

“What? How did he find out?”

Monet pushed her empty plate to the side and leaned toward me.

“I had to tell him. I had no other choice.”

I started to whisper because I didn’t want anyone to overhear our private conversation.

“No other choice? Hmm,” I said, a little unnerved.

“Clay, Marc saw the tape.”

“What tape?”

Monet gasped.

“I forgot. I never told you. The sex tape.”

What the F?
I thought.

“Monet, we didn’t make a sex tape. I am sure I would have remembered that.”

I was furious and I could feel myself starting to perspire.

“Clay, I am so sorry. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would have wanted a copy,” Monet said remorsefully.

“So how did he find it?”

“In 2000 we went from VHS to DVD and Marc gave the VCR away to a friend. I had nothing to watch it on so I had the tape transferred on to DVD at the local
Radio Shack
. I came home from work one day and saw Marc watching it in our bedroom. You had me pinned against the wall from behind with my work clothes still on.”

“Shit!” I couldn’t believe it. I crossed my arms and shook my head. “Monet, this isn’t good. What the hell happened after that?”

“Marc said if I didn’t tell him who was fucking me he would throw all my shit out the bedroom window.”

“And?”

“He threw all my shit out the bedroom window. Through the bedroom window. I couldn’t tell him who you were. I know what he would have done.”

Before Monet could finish, we were interrupted by the nice waitress.

“Can I take your plates away?”

Perfect timing. I was about to catch the express train, first stop Paranoia City.

I let out a huge sigh and wiped my mouth with my dinner napkin. I started to calm down. First of all the incident was over a decade ago and Monet was divorced from him. I dropped it and Monet was glad that I was able to move on. We changed the subject.

“Are you still doing the stage hypno thingy?”

Monet knew me very well. Hypnosis was one of my passions and I was more than happy to chat about it.

“Not doing the stage stuff anymore, just hypnotherapy. That’s where my heart is. Even though it’s been 20 years since I went to the academy, it is still just as exciting as it was back then.”

“So where do you want to go with it? There are so many possibilities.”

The excitement in my eyes affirmed my love for the misunderstood discipline of wellness.

“My dream job is to one day become a forensic hypnotist. I would gladly volunteer my services for free to help solve criminal cases. In trance I can tease out crucial information buried deep in the subconscious, much more effectively than a detective. Now that is my dream job.”

“Have you ever done anything like that before?”

“Kinda. But it didn’t work out the way I planned.”

“Well, did it work?”

“Yeah. A friend of mine was deploying to
Operation Desert Storm
and just before he got his orders he found out his 14-year-old daughter was raped by some college football jock while she was visiting her grandmother in Kentucky The problem was she couldn’t remember who raped her.”

“That’s bullshit. How could you not know who raped you?”

“Babe, she was drunk and the whole incident was blacked out.”

“Oh, okay, that makes sense.”

“Eric was an Arabic interrogator and all of his interrogation skills were useless in getting her to remember. So he had me hypnotize Britany under the premise he could take the information to the police to get an arrest.”

“Okay, don’t leave me hanging. Did they get the guy or not?”

I felt a little uncomfortable retelling the story because Monet wasn’t going to get the ending she was looking for.

“Eric never planned on going to the police. He went AWOL and failed to report for
Operation Desert Storm.
Instead he went looking for the guy. Eric was AWOL for 63 days. On his final day of AWOL he called the Military Police from the gate and said that he was turning himself in. He lost a stripe and served three months in the brig on base. I went to visit him after he was in for about a month. When I asked Eric why he missed his flight to Kuwait he was eager to explain. He said, ‘I had a funeral to attend’.”

Monet wasn’t sympathetic to the guy as I expected her to be.

“Serves him right.”

Once again the lovely waitress’s timing was impeccable.

“Can I interest you in a dessert?”

Monet was quick to respond.

“No, that will be all.”

“Are you sure?”

“I heard your raspberry cheesecake is to die for. I will take two servings please.”

Monet rubbed her mid-section and leaned back.

“No, thank you, honey. I’ve eaten too much already.”

“Okay. You can have a bite of mine. Just one serving please.”

“Clay. I’m serious. No.”

Monet stood her ground. And the waitress took my order and winked at me. I didn’t know why.

Five minutes later, Mary, our waitress, returned with two servings of raspberry cheesecake. I looked at Monet and she looked at me. Obviously there was a misunderstanding.

Mary would explain.

“Sir, I just spoke with the head chef and he said if the lady didn’t like the cheesecake the meal was on the house.”

“How much is the bill?” I asked.

“In total the bill comes to just over $45 including drinks.”

I looked at Monet with look of pleading.

“Okay, okay. Just one bite. Lordy,” Monet reluctantly agreed.

I cut off a small piece of cheesecake with my fork and fed my sweetheart, trying to keep a straight face. She looked at me with contempt.

She took a bite. She started chewing slowly at first. Then I could sense the synapses in her brain beginning to fire. She started chewing at a normal rate.

“Hmm, not bad. What kind of cheesecake is that?” she asked as she looked for it on the menu.

“Raspberry cheesecake, ma’am.”

“It’s so rich. Is this made from scratch?”

Before I knew it, Monet devoured her piece and was working on mine.

“Hey, that’s my piece.”

“Ah, Mary, could you get us one slice to go. Thanks.”

It was funny watching Monet lick the icing off the fork.

Mary returned with the card swiper.

I handed Mary my
VISA
and she ran the transaction. I also handed Mary my cellphone to take a picture of Monet and I at the table. Monet sat on my lap and put her arm around me.

Click.

Mary returned my phone after admiring the picture.

“Would you like to add a tip on the card?”

“No, I’d rather leave a cash tip to make sure you get it.”

“Oh, thank you, sir.”

I reached into my wallet and retrieve a one dollar bill.

Monet was disappointed but remained silent as she stood gathering her coat and gloves. We headed towards the car.

As I started the engine Monet confronted me.

“Clay, one dollar? If you were short on money you should’ve just asked me. I could’ve tipped her. She was very nice.”

I smiled at Monet and chuckled.

“Baby, I know what you think you saw, but that’s not what you really saw.”

Monet turned around and saw Mary waving from outside the front entrance as we pulled out of the parking lot.

“Why is Mary jumping around like that?” Monet asked as she faced me in the car.

“Because, what I actually gave her was much more than a one dollar tip. A lot more,” I said.

After Monet realized that she had been hoodwinked she laughed aloud.

“You and your magic tricks.”

Just before we got to the hotel Monet had nearly polished off the rest of the cheesecake. She fed me what remained.

That was some damn good cheesecake.

Thanks Tammy.

2
011 began to feel like 1991. As Monet and I walked to our hotel room I felt like I had found what the world was searching for, a very special love. Every moment I spent with Monet deepened my desire and my longing to be intimate with her. I had been with her just over 24 hours and we were still in restraint mode. Maybe she was observing a 90-day rule. The only problem was, time was not a luxury; I was scheduled to fly out at the end of the week.

I undressed in the bedroom and rolled the covers back and slid in. Monet changed in the living room for some reason. It would only be moments before she emerged wearing just a bra and panties. I had to comment.

“Hmm, back in the day, when you wore panties to bed that meant the area was declared a no-sex zone. Is that still true in 2011?” I asked with a sly look on my face.

Monet walked toward the bed and whipped the covers from me and climbed on top of me.

“Maybe, we’ll see. But Clay, we really need to talk. Twenty years is a long time and I need to take it slow. I need to be careful, that’s all. So tell me, what have you been up to all these years? You dated some strange women in your past. Whatever happened to that psycho who almost bit your lip off and sent you to the emergency ward?”

“Oh, you mean Kay. Wow, now that’s going waaay back. I heard that she got married to some guy at her church. I read in the
Blade Tribune
that she shot her husband after he threatened to annul their marriage.”

Monet slid off me and nestled her head onto my chest.

“I told you she had a screw loose. Did they get divorced?”

“I don’t think so. I think they worked through it.”

“That has to be the stupidest thing I’ve heard, ever. Men can be such fools. If I shot you would you make up with me?”

“If it was just a flesh wound, probably,” I responded sarcastically.

Monet elbowed me in the side.

I turned my head toward Monet and placed my hand on her thigh.

“Do you drive these women crazy, or are they like that when you meet them?” Monet asked, while walking her fingers from my navel to my chest.

“Probably a combination of the two. Except for Lorraine, she was trouble from the start.”

“Who’s Lorraine?”

“Ahh, she’s an ex from 1995. She had two warrants for her arrest.”

Monet gave me a look then rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

“Didn’t go out much did you?” Monet asked, with a slight tinge of disappointment in her voice.

“No, just chilled most of the time.”

“Clay, that’s not chilling, that’s harboring. Harboring a fugitive. You could’ve got yourself in big trouble. Where do you find these women?”

I felt a little defensive talking about my checkered past and decided to turn the tables.

“Okay, your turn. I know you’ve got some dirt too. Confession time.”

Monet sighed and reflected.

“Well, there was this one guy. We dated the summer after my divorce in 2008. He wasn’t really available.”

“Was he married?”

“Yes, to his fans. He’s a celebrity.”

Her response gave me a bit of insecurity.

“Oh. NBA, NFL? I’m assuming he’s a jock, right?”

“No. He’s a rapper. In fact we heard one of his songs on the radio during the drive home.”

“Don’t tell me. You dated Flava Flav? How could you babe?”

Once again I found her elbow in my side.

“No, silly. I’m not telling you who he is. I fooled myself into thinking I could be enough for him. I think I might have been for the first two weeks, but that’s all. After a while he stopped me from attending his shows. And whenever I called him on his cellphone a different girl answered. Why can’t men just be faithful? That’s one issue I never had with you. You could never get enough of this,” Monet said, as she exposed her beautiful breasts.