Sinful Page 7

  Chandelle climbed out of bed, after having had the most difficult time understanding why Marvin all of a sudden decided that it was so important to go out palling around with the boys more than he had in the past. “Marvin, wake up,” she snapped angrily, nudging him in the ribs with the palm of her hand. “Marvin, you know you hear me. We need to talk.”

  “Not now, I’m trying to sleep,” he grunted irritably.

  “Get up and talk to me,” Chandelle demanded. “Is there something bothering you, something you want to tell me?” she prodded. “You’re changing on me and I don’t like it. I also don’t see why all of the dudes you run with are single,” she argued, while getting dressed for work. “Single dogs are always on the prowl behind the nastiest tail they can find.”

  “You need to stall all that, Chandelle,” Marvin mumbled, with the covers pulled over his head to mute the overhead light she’d flicked on for the sole purpose of annoying him.

  “You need to start coming home at a decent hour,” she fired back.

  “Keep your voice down,” he ordered, poking his head out to exhibit his displeasure to her sharing their business with the neighbors, as well as giving their houseguest an earful. “’Sides, I know way more married dogs on the hunt than the dudes I hang with.”

  “And that’s another thing,” Chandelle said, refusing to rein in the volume. “I can’t come up with a single reason why you have to hang out with the dudes in the first place. They’re not putting any money in your pocket, and don’t get me to talking about what else they can’t do for you.” She folded her arms and threw her head back in utter disdain of the way he’d been carrying on lately. When she felt the old cantankerous Chandelle fighting its way to the surface, she swallowed hard to stifle it. “I’m tired, Marvin, tired of watching the clock and wondering what time you’re gonna come stumbling in. Ever since we found the perfect house, you’ve been tripping. Sometimes I’m not so sure I still want to jump into a thirty-year commitment with someone who’s acting like he’d rather be out there, single and free.” Marvin pretended to have dozed off on his side of the bed once Chandelle had finished her tirade. “I’m tired, Marvin,” she huffed heatedly to the back of his head. After she’d rolled her eyes, slipped on her favorite leather pumps, and then stomped away, Marvin’s eyes fluttered, then opened.

  “You’re tired, too, huh?” she replied. “That makes two of us.”

  It was the third Friday in October when the inevitable happened. The tension in Marvin and Chandelle’s bedroom became thick enough to slice. Marvin’s sex drive had maneuvered a fast getaway. He’d grown exasperated over Chandelle’s backhanded insinuations. Simultaneously, Dior’s self-esteem suffered a major setback. Marvin wasn’t sure how to handle the divide widening between him and his wife, but Dior did the first thing that came to mind to ease her anxiety, she started fishing for compliments in Chandelle’s pond. Dior couldn’t have predicted that compliments wouldn’t be nearly enough to satisfy her.

  “Marvin, as soon as I’m finished making a few calls, I’ll take care of your dishes,” Dior offered eagerly. She was cloaked in a thick pastel-colored terrycloth housecoat, but her scheme wasn’t hidden too far beneath the exterior. “Just leave it there, I’ll get it. Need something to do with my hands anyway,” she added. “Shoot, I’ma have to do something drastic if I can’t talk up on a decent interview soon.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Marvin, chomping on a sausage link that Dior had whipped up before Chandelle left for work. “You’ll make out all right. A hustler and a smart woman like you gets her share of breaks in life. The next time it comes around, make the best of it. Keep at it. Everything will work out in due time.”

  “Hey, now, that’s got to be the nicest props you ever hit me with,” Dior gushed. “Thanks, I really needed that.” You have no idea what else I need, she considered telling him before catching herself. “Chandelle is so lucky to have you, Marvin. You’re a good brotha.”

  “You don’t know just how much I needed that,” he replied, wearing a tired expression. “I hope you get what you really want.”

  “Me too,” she whispered seductively, a bit louder than she intended.

  “What was that?” he asked, believing he probably heard wrong.

  “Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud,” Dior answered, while backpedalling to her bedroom. “I know you need to leave for work. I’ll see you later.”

  Marvin sensed that Dior had something else on her mind, other than the words she had breathed life into, but he figured it was better not to pry. He’d heard stories of in-law incest and didn’t want his name added to the other men stupid enough to entertain a tryst that should never have happened. Besides, Dior wasn’t the type of woman he’d look at twice, even if he was still single. He knew better than anyone how her life was peppered with troubled episodes and one bad decision after another. Actually, he’d grown hopeful that Dior would strike out in the right direction and eventually find her way.

  Before leaving for the store, he read over the mortgage papers Kimberly forwarded to him from her brokerage firm. An angry collection of knots tightened in the pit of his stomach as he pored over the selling price of the home Chandelle had fallen in love with at first sight. She’d whined hysterically over the house with a corner lot until Marvin acquiesced. Begrudgingly, he signed the loan documents, which exceeded their previously agreed purchase amount by $50,000. He was in too deep and couldn’t sleep for worrying about the hefty obligation.

  After he exhaled and stuffed the folded copies back into his business portfolio, he wandered into the master bathroom to run cold water over his face. The coolness seemed to lessen his woes. The bath towel draped over his head offered a false sense of relief as he stretched his developed arms. Unfortunately, it was merely a momentary reprieve. While Marvin searched the living room to gather his keys and cell phone, Dior sauntered down the hallway into plain view, wearing a pair of provocative high heels, a snugly fitting pair of pink low-rise panties, and a matching tank top.

  Marvin’s mouth popped opened when he realized two things at the same time: He wasn’t dreaming, and he couldn’t force himself to look away. The sight of Dior’s toned brown thighs made his mouth water. The way her hips swayed rhythmically to and fro caused him to shudder. Her firm breasts pushed against the revealing top. And his commitment to his wife made him wish he hadn’t seen Chandelle’s cousin practically naked.

  Dior waggled her behind as she poked around in the refrigerator. She began to hum casually as if alone and amusing herself to pass the time. Marvin, genuinely ashamed to have been extremely excited by what he watched, cleared his throat when he reasoned Dior didn’t know that he was observing her. “Huh-hmm,” he coughed, uncertain how to explain his presence and the potentially embarrassing incident. When Dior’s hips continued to bounce with the music going on in her head, Marvin coughed louder.

  Like a deer in the forest hearing a strange sound, Dior pulled her head out of the refrigerator and jutted back. “Marvin?” she said, swinging her breasts in his direction. “Shouldn’t you be gone by now? I thought I had the place to myself,” she lied, and not too convincingly. Marvin was still gazing at her, now through guilty eyes. After two solid weeks of being a good girl, Dior enjoyed witnessing the helpless expression that had subdued him. It confirmed what she already knew about human nature. Even a good man had to struggle against a tempting can’t-miss opportunity staring him in the face. “What’s wrong with you?” she teased him, with both hands riding on her hips. “You see something you like?”

  “I…uh…I’m sorry,” Marvin stammered nervously. “I shouldn’t be here. I should go.” His better judgment warned him to run, not walk, to the nearest exit, but his feet listened to another part of him and neglected to move an inch.

  “Suit yourself, if that’s what you’d rather do,” she answered disappointedly. “Just let me get some juice and I’ll climb back in my bed,” Dior cooed. Her sultry purrs were accompanied by a sensual grin.
“I’d hate to make you feel like you couldn’t come and go as you please…when you please. I mean, with this being your place and all.”

  Why can’t I stop looking at her? Marvin asked himself. “Oops, did I say that out loud?” Dior’s schoolgirl giggles confirmed that he had. “Okay, now I’m really out of line.”

  “Yeah, and you’re sweating too,” she informed him. “I can’t say that I blame you, though. I’m here, you’re here. We’re alone.”

  “But nothing’s gonna happen,” he spouted hurriedly, with an uneasy frown on his lips.

  “Who are you trying to convince, me or you?” asked Dior in a straightforward manner that sent a chill through Marvin.

  “Huh? Oh, naw, I’m straight,” he said, mostly to reassure himself. “Ain’t nothing going down. Uh-uh…nope…nothing.”

  “You tryna tell me you don’t want it to?” Dior questioned brazenly.

  “That doesn’t really matter, does it? You are my wife’s cousin, who she took in, who’s living here in her home, and who she trusts me being around,” was Marvin’s politically correct response. “You’re wrong for putting it in my face like this, Dior. You know you’re wrong.” She twisted her lips and tossed him a smirk after hearing his lopsided declaration condemning solely her. Marvin quickly agreed that he wasn’t entirely sound in his assessment of the sticky situation, which had lingered for far too long. “Okay, I see your point. I don’t have any business sizing you up either. There, are you happy?”

  “Not even…but you’d better break out now because I’m a woman without a man, I’m in heat, and about three seconds away from stepping into a long, hot shower to take matters into my own hands so…”

  “All right, all right,” Marvin yelled in his own defense. “I’m going. I’m out. Just promise that this won’t happen again so Chandelle won’t be forced to kill the both of us.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, Marvin,” Dior decided. “It was a harmless mistake. I didn’t know where you stood and you didn’t know how good I looked in my private party uniform. That makes us even. No harm, no foul. Now, about that shower, one, two…” she counted.

  “Uh-uh, you ain’t even gotta…I’m gone!” he shouted, with one foot out the door.

  Yeah, but you’ll be back, she thought, and now that you’ve seen what I got, that’s gonna sit on your mind until you’re begging me to sit on your lap. Life was all a game to Dior. She often rolled the dice and glided along the spaces with various strategies at her disposal. Winning didn’t motivate her actions. Playing against the odds offered all the intrigue she needed, and pure adrenaline propelled her forward. It was the uncertainty of risk and reward that moved her. Plain and simple, Dior was in it for the rush.

  9

  I Didn’t Mean To

  Chandelle spent the entire day moping at her desk. The stack of home redecorating magazines she’d studied copiously were of no interest. Something was wrong with her man, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The symptoms were obvious. Marvin was working more than Chandelle felt he needed to, he had become prone to staying out even later, and the healthy romantic jaunts she could always count on in the past weren’t nearly as likely with his hectic schedule. Those were the symptoms, what caused them were considerably more difficult to detect.

  When Chandelle’s phone rang, she glanced at the caller ID. A very caring friend and the junior partner of a successful marketing company had beckoned her. “Hey, Grace,” she said, after holding the cold receiver to her ear. “No, I haven’t gotten to the Dream Creams file yet. I’m sorry. I’ll get right on it. Yes, Grace, you’ll have it by four.” When Chandelle sighed unwittingly, she was summoned into the boss’ office. “Right this minute?” she asked, alarmed at Grace’s managerial tone. “Yes, ma’am.”

  In the eighteen seconds that it took Chandelle to reach Grace’s doorway, she didn’t figure that dragging her feet while prepping a client’s chart for an upcoming meeting would land her in the doghouse. Although she’d taken her job seriously, and was rewarded a promotion because of it, Chandelle knew Grace didn’t allow for sloughing at any turn. Since it had been fourteen years since she’d been pregnant the first time, Grace wasn’t in the mood for any foolishness. Depending on how that baby was treating her, she’d been known to run hot and cold at a moment’s notice. Chandelle was hoping for a plane of emotional stability landing somewhere in between the two.

  Standing at the mouth of Grace’s office, Chandelle cautiously poked her head inside. “Yes, Mrs. Peters,” she said, just above a whisper.

  “Mrs. Peters? Maybe you ought to come in and have a seat,” answered Grace, as she studied her younger associate arduously. That hitch in Chandelle’s voice she’d heard on the phone didn’t stop there. Now it was leading her around by the nose. “Chandelle, you’re going to tell me what’s gotten you moving slower than molasses, because my feet hurt too much to also have my head hurting as a result of trying to guess.”

  Chandelle, wide-eyed, snickered uncontrollably at Grace’s grumpy tirade. “Please, I’m sorry, Grace. Working full time in your condition must be challenging. I’d hate to add to the stress.”

  “Good, then don’t. Hurry up and get to telling me why the client’s file isn’t complete and on my desk?” When Chandelle acted as if she might balk at the idea of sharing her business, Grace groaned and leaned back in her leather chair. “Come on now, I’ve already told you about my feet.”

  “Right, you have,” Chandelle replied, shifting her weight to the front of her chair. “I don’t know what it is really, but something is up with Marvin. He hasn’t been hisself lately.”

  “And what about Chandelle, has she been herself lately?”

  “You know me,” replied Chandelle, suggesting she was never off-kilter.

  “Yes, and that’s why I asked,” Graced offered honestly. “See, there’s often three sides to every story: his, hers, and the truth.”

  “It’s not like that, Grace, not this time,” Chandelle explained. “It’s something I don’t understand. Marvin has not been the type to run with the fellas or work himself into a coma. We don’t ever seem to…” she started to say before remembering Grace was still her boss after all. “Well, let’s just say I’m sleeping alone more now than when I was single and auditioning, know what I’m saying?”

  “Uh-huh, but do you know what you’re saying. Look, Chandelle, from what you’ve told me, I’m sensing that Marvin is running himself ragged and avoiding you for the same reason.”

  Chandelle eased back into the chair and crossed all ten fingers beneath her chin. “My spirit is telling me that he’s sneakin’.”

  “Has he given you any real reason to think that, or is your loneliness overriding your intuition? Marvin is a good man, we both know that. We also know how much he loves Chandelle. Perhaps this is a good time to sit him down and get to the root of the problem. Marvin’s sensible, get him to talking about things and it’ll play itself out. I agree that something is keeping him away from you, but trust me on this one, for people who love one another more than they want to be alone, it always does work out.”

  The words Grace planted in Chandelle’s mind made a promising impact. She hustled throughout the afternoon and delivered the file with time to spare. Chandelle drove home for the weekend thinking that if only manipulating her husband to come clean were that easy, getting him to come home on time would have been a cinch.

  After taking Grace’s words to heart, she waited for a perfect time to have that “getting him to open up” chat, but it appeared by Sunday evening that it would never arrive. Even with Dior chasing cocktail waitress gigs for the last two days, Marvin wasn’t at home and awake for three minutes at a time. Chandelle just kept telling herself that her husband was crazy about her and that they were very fortunate to be moving upstream with a new home. Build bridges, not walls, she kept reminding herself, although her quick temper made that easier said than done. Just get him to open up about what’s got him acting all distant and love will tak
e care of the rest.

  Chandelle stood in the kitchen of their small apartment, wrapping flatware in old newspaper. She was so excited when their mortgage loan for the house on Brass Spoon was approved two weeks before. Marvin had been sulking, ever since then. Although she tried to overlook it, the increasing long hours at the job had only intensified, and so did the anemic paychecks he’d been bringing home despite busting his rump for an unappreciative owner. After being married for three years, Chandelle thought she knew her husband. In short order, she had to learn the hard way how little she knew herself.

  “Marvin, do we have any more old newspapers?” she yelled, standing over a stack of china plates yet to be wrapped. “Marvin!” she shouted, when he didn’t answer.

  “Yeah, I’m watching the game. Cowboys about to get a touchdown,” he said finally.

  Chandelle rolled her eyes, and then pretended she wasn’t bothered that he didn’t jump into action the way he used to when they first married. Back then, he was all about her and she missed that. To make matters worse, seemingly he’d become all about himself, and that was unacceptable. “Marvin! I need you to get some more newspaper. I’m out already and I haven’t even done the china from our wedding yet. Marvin!” When Chandelle stepped around the corner into the tiny den area, Marvin’s eyes were fastened to the expensive flat screen as if he were sitting in the stadium on the fifty yard line. “Ah-hmm,” Chandelle uttered, as if clearing her throat. “Forget it, I’ll run to the corner store myself,” she said, starting to collect her purse and coat.