Sinful Read online

  In the meanwhile, Marvin used his time to run errands. He picked up a study package from the Hightower Realty Group, equipped with manuals, mission statements, pretest kits, applications, and a book of realtor terms. It felt like college exams again, and that brought an unexpected smile to his face.

  There were two more stops on his checklist for the day. The thrift store located near his old job sold refurbished furniture so he wandered into the warehouse to see what, if anything, he could get with $100. He pulled his SUV away from the back loading dock thirty minutes later with the love seat Chandelle had begged them to haul off crammed inside and the reclining chair tied on top. Marvin was lucky to get them back. He was blessed to get them back for $75. By the end of the day, he met with Dooney as he closed the shop early.

  “Thanks, man, I really appreciate you squeezing me in this evening,” Marvin told him in earnest. Dooney flicked off the red neon OPEN sign in the window.

  “No sweat, Kinfolk, but I thought you decided to pass on stopping by.” Dooney glanced at his watch and laughed as if there was an inside joke. “A couple of more seconds and you would have had to keep on going.”

  “My bad, Dooney,” Marvin apologized. “I know I’m late and on your time so go ahead hook me up, then I’ll jet out.”

  Dooney glared at him playfully, then gestured toward his barber chair for Marvin to sit. “By the looks of it you need to cop a squat anyway. I wouldn’t be walking around like this if I were you.”

  “Oh, you’re cracking on me? I know I need a cut, that’s why I’m here.”

  “Who said I was talking about your head?” Marvin, facing the broad mirror, glanced up to note Dooney’s expression. “That’s right. I’m talking about you and Chandelle. She called me. I put the Dooney Show on her and did what I do. Man, I even got her to look you up and get back in the ring.”

  Marvin began to replay the last interaction he shared with estranged wife while Dooney worked the clippers around the edges of his hairline. “I should have known she needed some convincing to come back begging.”

  “She was beggin’?” Dooney asked in an elevated tone. “And you still booted her out?”

  “Don’t mix it up, Dooney; it wasn’t even like that,” Marvin explained. “I wasn’t in any mood to have her knocking on my door and I haven’t been myself in a while.”

  “Marvin, we’re cool like the other side of the pillow, you know that. I respect you and what you feel necessary to maintain peace of mind, but sometimes us brothas get our hearts stepped on and forget that we could use some convincing too.” When Dooney saw Marvin’s jaws tighten, he stopped cutting and turned the chair around. “Kinfolk, I ain’t never told nobody this, but it’s the God’s honest true. There’s a curse on the women in my family that goes all the way back to slavery. Not one of them can keep a man.”

  Marvin squinted at Dooney, trying to read him. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I wish I was,” he answered, with a grave expression.

  “Dooney, you play too much,” Marvin said, figuring it had to be a ruse.

  “Marvin, I’m as serious as a stroke. There’s a curse on the Wicker women. None of our ancestors on my momma’s side could hold down a man longer than a few years, not my momma, not Chandelle’s, nor any of the ones who came before them.” When Dooney was sure he had Marvin’s undivided attention, he lowered the guilt boom appropriately. “Everybody was rooting for Chandelle to break the hex and now this. Marvin, you’re gonna fool around and set the sistahs in my family back six generations.”

  “That’s heavy,” Marvin uttered, with his head hung low. “Why didn’t Chandelle say something about this curse before?”

  “Would you? I mean be real about it, if y’all can’t hold it together, we got to depend on Dior, and she can’t even keep a gig six months. Hold down a man…dude, please.”

  “I see what you mean,” Marvin said, as the magnitude of Chandelle’s family history weighed on him. “I’d hate to keep the bad luck going, but I’m concentrating on some other things right now.”

  “Just thought I’d lay it on you for size,” Dooney told him, as he started up the electric clippers again to resume the trim.

  True enough, Marvin had a lot on his plate as it was. It was too much to heap on the future and respectability of an entire family tree. He tried to shrug off the conversation but couldn’t, so he did the next best thing, pretended not to be affected by it. It was a man thing, right, wrong, or in between, a man thing. “You put that on me for size, huh?” Marvin said finally.

  Once again, Dooney had stepped up to help facilitate a meeting of the minds. Although he didn’t think twice about enduring the struggles of a committed relationship, personally he believed that Marvin and Chandelle belonged together. Ironically, Dooney was working both ends against the middle in direct opposition to Dior’s plan. He and his twin sister had many characteristics in common, but they were as different as two sides of the same coin. Dooney wanted to give his favorite cousin every possible chance to retain the one thing he couldn’t conceive putting his name on.

  After finishing with Marvin’s haircut, Dooney ushered him out of the door quickly. “All right, Marvin, I know where you live. Do right by Chandelle,” he suggested firmly. “Or at least say you’ll think about it?”

  “I’ll get at you later, Doo’,” was Marvin’s noncommittal answer. “Keep it tight.” He was halfway to his vehicle when he snagged a fleeting thought from midair. All the lights inside the barber shop were shut off. Marvin remembered that Dooney lived above the first floor in a crammed one-bedroom apartment.

  While climbing the apartment’s back stairs, Marvin intended to ask Dooney if he’d be just as helpful by passing out his business cards after he passed the real estate exam. His first group of knocks went unanswered, but Marvin knew he had to be in there. He beat on the door a second time. “Dooney, open up!” he yelled, and banged insistently. He stumbled backward when Dooney snatched the door open, already stripped down to his boxers.

  “What is it with you, Kinfolk?” he barked. “You don’t want your woman so you’re gonna jinx what I got going on with one of mine?”

  Marvin looked past Dooney’s narrow shoulders. Sure enough, there was a woman in the bed, hiding beneath the covers. One glimpse of her long dreads exposed who she was. “Reeka?” Marvin mouthed quietly, in utter surprise. “Go head on, you dirty dog.”

  “Told you I needed a new microwave,” Dooney replied in a similar tone. “How else am I gonna get that store discount? Oh, and Marvin, don’t come back tonight. I’m putting in work for an Executive beer cooler. Reeka said they got one left and I want it for the shop. Ooh, this is gon’ be fun. Told you she was a freak,” Dooney added before slamming his door in Marvin’s face.

  “Yeah, you told me.”

  20

  What About Us?

  Chandelle spent her first Saturday on Brass Spoon Drive alone, rearranging furniture. She started by moving the canisters she’d purchased from Bed, Bath & Beyond back and forth from the counter near the black range oven to the one nearest the breakfast table. When she grew tired of looking at a neatly decorated kitchen, done in a colorful southwestern theme, Chandelle busied herself in the master bathroom.

  The bathroom’s crème-colored ceramic tile floor with a rectangular border done in a tan-hued pattern beneath her brown leather house shoes is what caught her eye at first glance. The Jacuzzi-style sunken bathtub took her breath away. When signing the loan documents, Chandelle imagined long, lazy soaks in it with her husband. Now that seemed like a lifetime ago, so she went back to rearranging.

  Shortly after finding in her walk-in closet a shoe box filled with vacation photos, she began sorting through them one by one with the intention of placing them in an album. The memories captured on Kodak paper caused Chandelle to pause and search deep within her soul. Saturday night saw her toss and turn. Sunday morning rolled in just in time to gloat.

  Chandelle drew her legs over the side of the be
d, stretched, and yawned. There were at least four hours of sleep still languishing between the sheets, but they would have to stay there if making it to church service on time still meant anything. Exhausted, Chandelle closed her eyes. She wanted to scream. Mentally and spiritually drained, she found it hard to deny that everything about her seemed tragically out of place.

  While selecting an outfit for church, Chandelle cried. After she’d gotten dressed and realized there would be no pleasant compliments forthcoming to tell her how beautiful she looked before leaving the house, she cried. When Chandelle strolled through the church parking lot without her husband by her side, she hurried into the women’s lounge and fell apart again.

  Several concerned sisters tried to console her as she sobbed uncontrollably. Moments before service began, Grace overheard women gossiping about Chandelle’s nervous breakdown. She whispered to her husband, “Wallace, Chandelle is coming undone in the ladies’ room. That poor thing is in a very bad place with Marvin and I’ve got to go and see about her.”

  “Go on, sweetheart, and keep the hens away,” he wisely suggested. Wallace knew church folk well enough to spot a few busybodies among them. Not everyone who peeped in to witness Chandelle at her worst was interested in helping her get over it.

  Grace could have hardly been confused with a coddling “there-there” type. However, her heart poured out when she discovered Chandelle being tended by two of the biggest gossips in the congregation. “Thank you, sisters,” Grace announced, as if the cavalry had ridden in on white horses. She shooed the women away from Chandelle, who was huddled on the lounge sofa. “Dear God,” she sighed, holding in her reaction. Seeing her young, sassy friend in tears saddened her.

  Rushing to aid Chandelle, Grace joined her on the sofa and hugged her. “Chandelle,” she cooed. “You’re going to have to pull together, sweetie. Married people go through things all the time, that’s part of the process to make it great. It’ll be all right. There…there, now. I know it’s rough right now, but you’re strong and Marvin will come to his senses. It will be all right in due time,” Grace assured her.

  Chandelle raised her head slowly as if it weighed a ton; then she shook it disagreeably. “You don’t understand, Grace. Marvin hates me. I deserve it.”

  “He does no such thing,” Grace sang tenderly.

  “Yes, I’m right about this. Marvin’s gone. He does—doesn’t want it anymore,” cried Chandelle. “He told me so the other night.” She also revealed what else Marvin told her before shutting her out of his life. Once Grace had heard and seen enough, she stormed out of the women’s room on a mission to make something good happen but fast.

  Marvin had crept in the church and taken a seat on the back pew. He hadn’t been there long when Grace sent one of the ushers to “fetch his behind” for her. Marvin didn’t question when he was summoned.

  “Grace Peters said your wife is in a bad way,” the man whispered. “Said you need to come quick.”

  Marvin excused himself from service. He pushed through the exit doors wearing a bewildered look, fearing Chandelle had been terribly hurt in an accident. Oddly enough, that much was true. “Grace, what happened to Chandelle?” he asked frantically. “Is she going to be okay? Brother Clement said she was bad off. She sick?”

  Grace placed both hands on her hips and tilted her head back. “She’ll live, but I’m the one who’s sick. Yeah, I said it. I’m sick of y’all showing out when you have better things to do with your time.”

  “What?” Marvin said, totally lost. “Where is Chandelle?”

  “Come on, you need to see this,” answered Grace, as she pulled him by the arm into the women’s lounge.

  Marvin protested heartily. “Whoa, Grace, this is the women’s room. I can’t come in here…Hey, y’all got a couch?”

  “Shut up and look!” she grunted insistently.

  Marvin’s knees weakened when his eyes fell on Chandelle’s condition. “Thank you, Grace,” he whispered softly. “You mind? I need to be alone with her.”

  Smiling pleasantly, Grace nodded her head. “You’re very welcome. No, I don’t. And, yes, you do,” she answered him. Grace stood outside, guarding the door until her feet began to hurt; then she grabbed two chairs, sat down, and propped them up.

  Inside of the lounge, Marvin held his wife tightly with his muscular arms. “I never wanted to see you like this, Chandelle,” he confessed.

  “I didn’t want you to see me crying,” she sobbed, hiding her face in her hands. Marvin moved her hands aside so he could get a better look. Chandelle’s eyes were puffy and red. “I must look a mess,” she said, turning her face away from him.

  “No, you’re as pretty as ever,” he replied with utmost sincerity.

  “Marvin, tell me you still love me.”

  “Yes, I do, but—” he started to say before she interrupted him.

  “Then why aren’t we together?”

  “After the worst week of my life, I don’t know what to do about us anymore,” Marvin replied honestly.

  “We could get someone to help us fix it,” she suggested, while allowing her tear-filled eyelashes to brush against Marvin’s suit coat. “You could also stop seeing that lady and come home,” Chandelle threw in as a Hail Mary, figuring it was worth going for it all. Marvin remained silent on both accounts. One of them was strictly off limits: his extreme opposition to counseling and opening himself up to criticism. Like too many men in rocky marriages, his heart was in the right place but his pride was getting in the way.

  Over the next week, Marvin took the required real-estate courses twice. He studied marketing, buying, and selling trends into the wee hours of the morning. With each call he received from Chandelle inquiring when he planned on joining her sessions with a professional relationship psychologist, he balked, citing that his busy schedule wouldn’t allow it. Time, he said, is what he needed, more time.

  Kim had taken Marvin under her wing, teaching him strategies to become successful and a method of doing business to help facilitate it. “Pull interest rate sheets every morning, first thing,” she told him. “Review client applications and search the Web for the most recent home-lending products. If you stay on top of loan products and what your customers’ needs are, you’ll make a very good living and your client list will grow because of it. This isn’t rocket science, Marvin, but doing it the right way makes the difference between a lot of commas in your bank account and being forced to find other ways to keep your lights on.” Marvin took Kim at her word, especially after learning how she’d started a small company on her kitchen table and it grew into a million-dollar business in less than four years. He estimated that she worked sixty to eighty hours a week and cleared around seven hundred thousand a year.

  The morning of Marvin’s trial, Kim arrived at the office at seven-thirty. Marvin had used his key to open up. With the envelope containing his exam scores placed beneath a stack of home listings he intended to walk through to get his feet wet before doing it with real live clients, Marvin spoke to Kim calmly. That struck her as odd, considering how her brother was always a bundle of nerves on the days of his trials.

  “Good morning, Kim. I was just pulling the daily rates sheets, but some of our banks haven’t posted theirs yet. Maybe I could review the listings in quad four and see if anything new in the three hundred thousand dollar price range pops up. The McClellans said they wanted a suburban-style build job in north Dallas. I’ve heard you say a million times that you’d have to knock a house over to do a construction job on the north side because there are no available lots to build on. Remember I sat in on the interview you did with them. I’m almost positive that the Mrs. wants fresh paint near a good elementary school in the suburbs. Mr. McClellan is thinking more about the miles he’s logging to and from work.” Kim listened attentively to Marvin. “So, if I can find a recent new construction with a lot of add-ons and a sizeable back yard…ahhh, see what I’m getting at. I think you can sell the McClellans on an almost new home within th
e city limits.”

  Kim was impressed because difficult home buyers were challenging to reason with. “Not bad, Marvin, not bad at all. However, there’s only a fifteen-minute drive time difference in the area from where Mrs. McClellan wants to raise her kids and Mr. McClellan’s office is located.”

  “Not during peak traffic hours,” he replied in ah-ha fashion. “You’ve taught me that married home buyers have two needs, hers and his. Let’s present them with some options to satisfy both. If they start shopping in the ’burbs, it’ll be harder to keep them on our leash. You taught me that too.”

  “Bravo,” Kim applauded. “You must have ice water flowing through your veins,” she joked. “I know you’re committed, but enough is enough.”

  Marvin assumed she was getting at his tireless desire to soak in the industry culture. “Oh this, I’m beginning to figure out better ways to spin the news.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. My brother is usually hanging over the edge on the days he’s gone to trial.”

  “Trial? Today is the twelfth?” he asked, flipping through his desk calendar. “How did I forget? Kim, I’ve got a couple of hours to get downtown and hire a lawyer to beg for a continuance.” He grabbed his suit coat off the back of the chair and sprinted for the door. “Oh, my test scores came yesterday. They’re on my desk.”