Wearing My Halo Tilted (13 page)

“What were you doing? Spying on us?” I said to her.

“So what if I was?”

“Well, it's quite pathetic if you were. I'm not doing nothing wrong anyway, not that I owe you any explanation. The guy was married when you went out with him too. And plus, me and him are just friends.”

“Save that bull for somebody who'll believe it,” she said, purposely flicking my books across the desk messing up the pretty display I had just took my time to create.

“Ay, wait a minute,” I said, furiously coming from around the back of the oblong table.

“You better get out of my face, Shari.”

“You better fix my books back!” I said without moving.

She nudged me back a little and I pushed her back farther. Seeing that I was no pushover she started trying to recklessly fix my arrangement.

“Nah, that's alright. Forget it,” I told her, knowing her half-effort wouldn't get it right.

“I'm so much better than you,” she told me as I turned my back to her to straighten the table. “You profess to be a born again Christian. What a crock! Yeah, I'm in this gospel play. I sing the songs and I act the part. But I haven't really given my life to Christ. I don't wanna be a hypocrite. Folks like you mess it up for nonbelievers. Your walk leads people to hell faster than mine would. They know I'm a sinner, but you . . . you saying the right things, but doing more sin than me. I was attracted to Bryce Maddox because I believed he loved the Lord. Now, I see he's just like every other Negro in the street. You can have him.” I turned and she looked at me like I was worse than trash. “But don't get too comfortable with the thought of him being yours. Just when he gets tired, like I told you before, you'll be just the next lady he'll dump not the next lady he'll keep.”

I dismissed her venting knowing she was still jealous. How could I be leading people to hell? She was crazy and needed to accept Jesus so she'd have her name in the Lamb's book of life, not be worried about what I do.

After another outstanding performance, Bryce and I found ourselves eating Chinese food in a New York music studio. This one was far superior to the sweet little one he had set up in his room. Listening to his first few recordings was so fun at first. But when two o'clock rolled around and I found myself still listening to the exact same thing over, and over, and over again, I realized the record industry wasn't for me.

“I need a female background vocal. Will you sing with me on the track?” he asked.

“No, I don't have that great a voice,” I said, walking toward the door.

Faster than I could think, Bryce tugged me in front of the microphone and started singing
“la la la la la la”
to help me warm up my unused voice. It was another long nighter. At four, after we were satisfied with the vocals, we warmed up the leftover Chinese food and talked.

“You're looking sad,” he said, picking up that my vibe had changed. “Something's going on with you. You're thinking really heavy about something, what? Talk to me.”

“Nothing crazy, just something Lacy said that rattled me earlier, but I'm fine.”

“Lacy? I'll tell her to leave you alone. She's just fishing for info to use against me. She's upset that we aren't close anymore. She needs to chill. You know what I'm saying.”

Passionately defending her, I charged, “No, I don't know what you're saying. How hot and heavy were you? Women just can't forget.”

“What, you want me to tell her business,” he said, looking guiltier than strictly admitting it ever would. “I was a little wild with her. It was wrong. But it's over now. She whines and expects way more than I ever promised. She can't do anything for me.”

I heard everything he was saying and somehow his words were just as stale and yucky as the old Chinese food in my mouth. Spitting it out, I said, “Ugh,”

“You want some of mine?” he said, thinking I was only talking about food.

“No,” I told him, ready to call it a night.

He took my food and walked it over to the trash can. Then he came back over to me and literally took the couch. I was ready to be rid of him.

“Your face is so pretty,” he said as he stroked my cheek. “You smell so good.”

“It's late,” I said nonchalantly to him.

He gave me a hug. With our tight embrace, I felt him growing below. My resistance of his carefree attitude about Lacy being sad, went out the window. I knew I couldn't contain the moisture I was releasing. I felt my skirt sticking to myself.

He nibbled on my ear and said, “You want me don't you?”

What I wanted was self-control, self-restraint. It felt real to say, no, that's not what I want, but as my tongue made its way to his mouth, the upright position we had on the couch turned into a laid down one. I knew he was right. I wanted him desperately.

The passion was shining all through my body, ready to burst out and show him just how much. There was no way I could stop the craze, no way I could hold the desire in. No way I could tell him no. But somehow, someway I did. I thought he'd be angry when I got up, leaving him on the couch alone with his pants unzipped. But he tucked in his business and stood up beside me while he fixed his pants.

He kissed me on the forehead and said, “Another time. I like you way too much to rush anything. Let me get you home.”

“I like you too,” I told him as I huffed, battling the spirit and my flesh. “But thanks for understanding that I just can't.”

“Shari, I respect you and I'll take you on a safe date.”

“Cool, yeah,” I told him, really thinking that Bryce Maddox was for me. That thought alone made me beam brighter than the sun that would be up in another few hours. Everything felt great.

 

 

When I got back to my hotel room it was about six o'clock in the morning. As I swiped my room card, I couldn't even get the green light to come on as I frantically tried to open the door. My telephone was ringing and because of the early time, all I could think was that it was an emergency. Finally, the key worked and I grabbed the phone before it stopped ringing.

“Hello, hello,” I said as I sat on the bed and tried to catch my breath.

“Where have you been?” my mom yelled back in an angry voice that made me take the receiver from my ear.

“Mom, is anything wrong?” I said as I held my chest hoping her answer would be no.

“Your husband is trying to get in touch with you and he called me saying he's been calling your cell phone all day. He doesn't have your hotel schedule. So he didn't know which city you were in.”

She was really bummed with me. Okay, I was out of pocket, but no biggie. There was nothing major I'd missed. Plus, it was the start of football season and the last thing my husband would have time for was me. Add on the fact that we had an estranged relationship, what was there for us to talk about? Surely nothing that would involve giving him numbers on where to find me on a constant basis. My cell phone was enough. But since my mom had the number and still couldn't find me, apparently by the heat in her tone she was not happy that I wasn't available the first few times she called either.

“I called you ten times. It got to a point where I was setting my alarm clock every half an hour to try to get you girl! Where have you been?” she huffed.

Why didn't she get the fact that I was a grown woman? Anyway, I said, “Mom, I was in the studio recording a song.”

“Recording? Did you say recording?”

“Yes, ma'am, I did.” Taking off my shoes.

“I'm sure he's gonna wonder what's going on since I didn't call him back last night. But you didn't call him back last night 'cause I couldn't give you the message 'cause you were nowhere to be found. You're a writer, Shari. You're not a musician. In the studio? I mean come on, that just doesn't even make sense. Girl, where were you and who in the heck were you with?”

“Mom, first of all I'm separated, so calm down. It's not like I'm committing any crime. If I was out on a date, which I was not so don't even scream anymore in my ear. Hold on.” I placed the phone down and took off my shirt. “I'm back.”

“Is he in the room with you? What are you doing? All that wrestling going on?”

“Mom, I'm changing my clothes. I've been working all night. And yeah, I have skills other than just being a writer, okay? And sometimes to deviate from my stress it helps to get the creative juices flowing.”

“Alright, creative juices.” She kept badgering on about something, although I really wasn't listening. I was so tired, so sleepy, and a little curious as to what Dillon wanted from me. It had been a couple of weeks since I'd seen him and he hadn't dialed my number once. I looked over on the desk and glancing at the charger where my cell phone was placed, I saw that I had three missed calls. Before picking it up, I checked to see that there were two missed calls from him and one from my mom.

Cutting her off, I said, “You called me on the cell too?”

“Yeah, 'cause I just thought you weren't picking up your husbands number because you recognized it. You know how you do sometimes, when I called you, and you didn't call me back . . . I kept calling the hotel's room to see what had gone on. I didn't know if you had lost the phone or something had happened to you on the road. I mean you are a million miles away, you hadn't called to check in on the kids all week. You're just out there.”

“How the heck often would you like for me to call them, Mother?” I said in a smart tone.

“Don't get sassy with me, girl. I'm just saying. You are still married and you do have responsibilities here. So you don't need to just be missing in action.”

“Mom, I left my cell by mistake on the charger in my hotel room. I was working. Nothing else to discuss.”

“Working? Are you getting paid for this music recording you're doing or is this another pipe dream your chasing?”

I could just see this star up in the sky shining so bright and her with her hands around it choking all the light out of it. She so didn't understand me. I guess she heard the hissing in my voice because she calmed down, and said, “Listen, I'm sorry. I've been sounding a little forceful, but I was worried.”

“She was worried!” I heard my dad yell from the background.

“Ma, you gotta tell Dad I'm okay.”

“He knows. He hears me talking to you. I guess it's just I don't want you to throw away your marriage just because times are tough.”

“Mom, you're the one that said he was crazy. Besides, I needed a change.”

“Yeah, I'm glad you both had some time apart. Dillon's been over here a couple of times this week to see the girls. We've talked since and he's sorry about some things too. But he can't be the only one who tries to get things right.”

“Well, it's one thing to actually change and another to just say you're gonna change. He doesn't wanna go to counseling because he's too afraid the Christian coach really isn't so Christian behind closed doors. But I hear you, I hear you. Thanks, Mom.”

“Will you call him right away?”

“Mom, it's six fifteen!”

“Six eighteen,” she said, straightening me out.

“Okay.”

“Good, call him. Your husband can be found at odd hours. Unlike some people I know.”

“Ma, I thought you just apologized for being really strong?”

“Yeah. Just take care of yourself and be careful. Dillon told your dad about the singer guy you like, and frankly the whole situation scares me a bit. Shari, you're gonna get yourself into more trouble than you know or can get out of. Just think about it.”

“I'll call him, Mom.”

After hanging up with her, I jumped in the shower and the hot water melting on my face felt wonderful. Every muscle in my body relaxed. It was like the shower took me away. But as soon as I turned off the water, the cold air hit and reality sorta set in and allowed me to realize it wasn't going to be easy talking to Dillon. If he asked any questions, assumingly out of line for a separated man to ask his wife, I'd let him have it. Dillon couldn't run me. Plus, that overbearing Dillon was why I was gone in the first place.

I had been way too easy for far too long allowing him to talk to me any kinda way. Now that I was away and had some independence, and quite frankly had a man who knew how to say the right things to me in the right tone, I didn't need to hear special words out of his mouth. I didn't need to go backward. When the damp towel felt cold on me I couldn't put off avoiding the call any longer. Reluctantly, I called Dillon. On the first ring he answered as if he'd been waiting for me to dial his digits.

“Hello,” he said in a real, real tired voice.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” I said, trying to set the right tone as I talked nicely and keenly.

“Naw, naw. I gotta get up. I can't be late for training camp.”

“Yeah, that's what I figured. How's it going by the way?” I asked, truly concerned.

“Good. Things are looking good. The first game is next week and now we have this big family dinner and coach asked me if you were coming,” Dillon said, trying to make me feel guilty.

You couldn't tell him I was on the road promoting my book? That I do have a job? That I am capable of doing something other than being a wife?
I said to myself, wanting to say it to him. However, I knew that was a little strong. To keep the peace, I said nothing.

He said, “I know I probably should've told him that you were busy doing your own thing. He just went on and on and on about how it'd be good to see you. Plus, with the recruits coming in, coach knows you would be good at helping us work the parents to get the kids to commit. I . . . I don't know. I just want to see if your schedule is clear. Coach thinks it would be great if you could come. You don't have to.”