Shh...Mine (This. Is. Not. Over.) Read online

  “Lola.” I say answering it.

  “Hey chica, returning your call from earlier. Girl, it’s a mess down here. The damn nuns at St. Patrick had a blood drive today. On a Sunday night! Who has a blood drive on a Sunday night? So of course no one showed which meant I had to call everyone on the damn church’s registry, asking if they had AIDS and if not could they give blood. It’s a damn mess!”

  “Father Harper called me to his office tonight. Someone mailed him pictures of Malcolm and me having sex.” I blurt it out. Lola is silent. “Lola…”

  “What. The. Fuck. I’m on my way.” Now that was a friend for you. A friend would hear that your childhood priest saw you sucking cock, and they’d be on their way to help you through it.

  “Okay.” I end the call. She’ll be here by tomorrow evening at the latest.

  I’m still hot. I’m still in shock and I’m still hot. This is a time where I would call my mother but sometimes a mother can’t help you cope with certain problems. My mother is good at helping me through a lot of things, but this would not be one of them. She would make it worse by telling me how I seem to always find myself in an awkward situation when it comes to Malcolm. No, I can’t call her. I can’t call Rena or Jasmine because we don’t ever talk about Malcolm and after that little stunt that Marlon admitted he pulled just the other night, I can tell that my friends aren’t ready to see me move on. They want the six of us to be BFF’s forever and Malcolm is not included within that picture. But what they don’t realize is that Jon may be around more often now, that we’re divorced, but there were plenty of times that he was a no show at dinners and night outs that we planned. It would be a table of five talking and laughing and I’d be the one alone. Yes, this week he’s made an effort to show up and be friendly but usually, I went out solo with them. But they didn’t care, they were just fine with the arrangement, never mind how I felt when they’d go home with their companions and I went home alone. I chewed Marlon out about that and I told Jasmine that I was sorry for acting shitty with her. You see, I don’t have an issue with Jon. Like I said, he’s a winner in my book just because he’s such a loyal father. Just this morning, he took Nicky to LA to spend ten days with his family. He could have spent his time with Marla, since Jasmine snuck and told me that they were seeing each other again, but he didn’t. He wanted to spend it with Nicky. I commend him for that. When he was here, we were beyond cordial with each other. Sure we had that hiccup in my office but I completely understood where he was coming from. He doesn’t want Malcolm becoming a part of his son’s life because he works out of town and is not as available as other fathers are. He doesn’t want a replacement. I get that. But while I do respect him, I don’t love him nor do I want him. The person I want is in those pictures on the passenger seat, fucking the hell out of me.

  Breathe Danielle…breathe…and then my phone rings. Oh no. I look to it and hold my breath. Malcolm.

  “Hey.” I answer. I’m trying to sound normal but I don’t. I’m hot, I’m shivering, I’m nervous and my mind is racing.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Thanks Lola.

  “Pictures.” That’s all I can say.

  “Where are you?”

  “At church.”

  “Meet me at the Starbucks on Tremont near the AMC.”

  “Okay.” I end the call and to head towards Starbucks. As I pull out, my phone rings again. Leave me the hell alone! It’s the front desk of my condo. What do they want?

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Rouge?”

  “Yes.”

  “We were asked to call you because of the crying in your condo.” What?

  “Excuse me?”

  “The crying. One of your neighbors is concerned about the crying. It’s rather loud.”

  “There’s no one in my condo, I’m not there and my son is in California with his father.”

  “So there’s no one who has a key?”

  “My parents but they’re in Houston.”

  “Hmm…They say they hear crying and they went to your door but no one would answer. They asked me to call you.”

  “Who’s reporting this?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Fulton. Do you have their number?”

  “No,” Shit, what is going on, “I’m on my way.”

  “Okay, would you like security to escort you to your door?”

  “Please.”

  “I’ll have them ready.”

  What in the hell is going on?

  Her Condo

  “I have no idea what’s going on, dear.” Mrs. Fulton says as she, Mr. Fulton and a security guard walk with me to my condo. The Fultons are nosey but at least they make me feel safe. There will be no funny business going on as long as they’re around. My heels click against the wood floors in my hallway. Control. I mean business. Now who the hell is in my condo crying? That sounds so fucking stupid. I whip out my keys so that everyone standing around knows that I have control. I put my key inside of the lock and…

  “It won’t turn.” I say to the others, my hand clutching an envelope that holds my porno pictures.

  “Huh?” Mr. Fulton says.

  “It won’t open.”

  “Let me see.” Security says as he takes the keys from me and tries.

  “Is that the right key, dear?” Mrs. Fulton says. I take the key from security and double check.

  “Yes.” I try the door again.

  “Well now, I don’t hear crying at all.” Mr. Fulton says. “Do you darling?” He asks his wife.

  “Not at all.” She replies.

  “Strange.” Shut the hell up! I can’t get inside of my home.

  “What’s going on!” I scream as I fight with the key and lock. It’s late, I’m tired, I have a long meeting tomorrow afternoon and I’m being stalked. I mean, I am literally being stalked.

  “This is weird.” Security says.

  “Okay.” I put my hand over my eyes and think. This same thing happened to my parents in Texas. Their outside door wouldn’t budge because the sun had eroded the lock. But my lock is inside of a building so that can’t be the case. Shit.

  “We need a locksmith.” Security says.

  “Yes, I agree.” Mrs. Fulton says.

  “Why, why, why.” I say as I turn around and head back downstairs, security on my tale. My mind is trying to come up with answers and it has only one: Laura. It’s as simple as that. Jon is out of town, he couldn’t have done this. I was just here this morning right before Jon and Nicky left out on the first flight to LA. Surely Jon could have sent the pictures to Father Harper but that doesn’t explain my locks. No, the same person who sent the pictures is fucking with my locks and that’s not Jon. That’s Laura. As security and I are in the elevator on the way down to the front desk, I remember that Malcolm is waiting for me at Starbucks. Dammit. Give me a second Malcolm, I’ve got to handle this.

  “Someone has changed my locks.” I say to Nell, the lady on duty at the front desk. I nearly have to scream that since Ray Charles’ Baby It’s Cold Outside is blaring from my condo’s sound system. Not now Ray!

  “Huh?” I hate when people say huh when they’ve heard everything I’ve said.

  “Turn Ray Charles down and maybe you can hear me!” Breathe Danielle. “My locks, they’re changed.” My patience is running low. “Who did it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Okay, do this. Get your afterhours locksmith here to change my locks and then show me your security camera.” Let’s settle this once and for all.

  “Give me one second.” Nell hurries and calls the locksmith while security stands by me, staring around the lobby with a scowl on his face. I’m on a case, don’t bother me. Nell has arranged for the locksmith and has ushered security and me inside of the camera room before she heads for the front desk again. Security (I don’t even ask him name) does something important (I can tell by the seriousness of his face) and then we’re scanning the cameras from the lobby.

  “Wait,” I say, “The lobby doesn’t
matter. What about my hallway.”

  “Oh, we don’t have cameras monitoring the hallway.”

  “What?” I’m doing that thing Nell does. “Why not?”

  “We try to protect your privacy.”

  “Well that makes a lot of sense. What good is it to look whose coming into the lobby if you can’t prove that they broke into your condo to cry in it?” Why am I even here? I turn around and leave and feel my phone vibrating. Whoever it is, not now.

  By the time I leave the security room, the locksmith is here. Well actually he’s the all-around handyman that I’ve seen here thousands of times. He must stay on the premises or fairly close by.

  “Now what’s this about your locks?” He asks.

  “Someone changed them while I was out.” I wave for him to come with me.

  “That’s not good.” No shit.

  We get on the elevator and he’s asking me to give him a rundown of how I discovered my locks were changed.

  “I went upstairs and tried my key.” I say.

  “Okay, and what happened?” Nothing! The fucking locks are changed!

  “Nothing.” I say.

  “I see.”

  By the time we walk down the hall to my door, Mr. and Mrs. Fulton has joined us. The four of us head the rest of the way and we’re all on a mission. Mrs. and Mr. Fulton and I stand at my door intently as the locksmith whistles the Ray Charles song and unhinges my lock off.

  “I wonder who’s inside.” Mrs. Fulton said.

  “No one.” I say as I walk into my condo. Everything looks normal. Nothing looks touched. I walk to the bathroom. No tissues in the basket. I walk to the toiletry closet. All tissue rolls are accounted for. Now, while I doubt someone was in here crying, I don’t doubt that someone was in here. I don’t doubt that Laura was in here.

  “I’m going to change your locks but do you have anyone to stay with tonight?” The locksmith asks. “I think you should file a police report.”

  “I agree.” Mr. Fulton says from the doorway.

  “I was actually going to stay with a friend.” I say. My clutch vibrates again. Malcolm. Hold on, darling. “I’ll just grab some clothes, I’ll be right back,” I say to my guest. I turn to my bedroom and then stare at the door. The door. I don’t close the door to my bedroom. I look back to make sure everyone is still there, just in case some funny business is going on. I walk to my bedroom door. Turn the nob. And nothing. It won’t open. I try to twist it again. Nothing. I violently twist it. Nothing. “What the hell?”

  “Something wrong again, dear?” Mrs. Fulton says from the doorway.

  “My bedroom door is locked.” I say as I head towards them. They all look at me like I’m speaking French.

  “This is just getting weirder and weirder.” The locksmith says.

  “What the hell is going on?” I stop at the front door, put my hands over my face and think. What’s going on here? Why is Laura stalking me all of a sudden? I haven’t seen her since Hilton Head and that was six months ago. Malcolm hasn’t even mentioned her again. Lola hasn’t even mentioned her. What was the problem now?

  “Danielle.” The sound of his voice jolts me out of my thoughts. Malcolm moves past the Fultons and the locksmith and heads towards me, his face is the most serious I’ve ever seen it before. “What’s going on?”

  “Someone’s changed the lock on my front door and my bedroom door.” I look at him accusingly. And you know it was Laura! Don’t you deny it! Malcolm walks past me and tries to turn the handle of my bedroom door. It won’t budge. He then heads to Nicky’s room but his door is open. He proceeds to every room of the house. Everything else is fine. “Any thoughts?” I ask as he heads back to me. “Laura?” He nods yes but says nothing.

  “I’ll handle it.” He reaches out and begins massaging the back of my neck with his thumb. I love when he does that. I let out a deep breath. Just when things were going good for me, this had to happen. The day Jon came to tell me off at my office, my agency just landed the biggest contract of its existence, I’m back in the feminist scene here in Boston, I just gave an amazing speech at Simmons College, Jon and I are actually friendly with each other, I finally have a balanced set of friendships that satisfy all of my needs and I have a perfect guy. Life was going so good. Then Laura rises up from the dead.

  Malcolm wraps me in a hug and I nearly melt inside of his chest. I put my hands up his back and towards his shoulders. His shoulders are perfect. I breathe in deeply, I can smell him. I have never felt so in love with a man. I have never felt so free to explore my fantasies. I have never felt so connected on a spiritual level with another person besides my parents and son. And even then, it’s a different feeling with Malcolm. It’s an Eros feeling, an attached feeling.

  “I’m exhausted.” I say as the locksmith begins to work on my bedroom door.

  “When we get in there, just grab some clothes and then we’ll go back to my place.” He holds me tighter. This feels so good.

  The locksmith takes the lock off of the door and everything inside of my room is fine. Nothing is wrong. Looks like Laura is just trying to drive me crazy. I grab some clothes and shoes; I have toiletries already at Malcolm’s. While I pack, Malcolm of course makes small talk with the locksmith and Fultons. They adore him and Mr. Fulton even materializes with the Boston Globe from a few days ago. He wants an autograph. Malcolm laughs and then playfully scribbles his name, trying to prove that he doesn’t take himself too seriously. Everyone seems to forget about my locks being changed while Malcolm answers their questions on his schooling, qualifications and noteworthy cases. He speaks in laymen terms, dumbing everything down for them since he believes it’s a sin to act pretentious. They comment on him being down to earth, he waves them all off with a smile. And when I can take no more of Mrs. Fulton rubbing her hand down the side of Malcolm’s coat, I told them that we had to leave.

  “I’m glad this happened.” Mrs. Fulton says to me before heading off down the hall with her husband.

  Thankfully, Malcolm is letting me rest inside of the truck on the drive to his home. He’s put on Adele and skipped past her fast songs. Bless him. I love Adele but why can’t she just sing ballads? I notice that he just replayed the last song, Lovesong, after it went off. Malcolm is sweet but most of his affections come in the form of action instead of words: flower petals, birthday cards, earth pendants, neck rubs, winks or even a stare as he brushes my cheek with his hand. That’s fine with me. At least he does something to let me know how he feels, we don’t always need spoken words to express ourselves. He’s put Lovesong on twice. I get it. I reach my hand over to his knee and run my hand over it. He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it.

  He hasn’t even asked to see the pictures and I’m glad. I’ll hand him the envelope before I take a shower. I can’t watch him look through it. When we get to his condo, I wish the drive was longer but I reluctantly allow valet to help me out of the car.

  Malcolm’s lobby is always buzzing with people and tonight is no exception. It’s filled with people as though it’s the lobby of a hotel that has the only bar open in town inside of it. Rocking Around The Christmas Tree is screaming through the sound system and people are twisting to it and singing along as they wait for friends to come down stairs. He and I squeeze past women in short skirts and high boots who aren’t ashamed of staring at Malcolm in front of me. He’s tall, he’s dark, he’s rich, he’s mine, my eyes say to a brunette with big boobs. Malcolm does that thing he always does when we are around of crowd of women who think that it’s okay to stare down someone else’s guy while you’re with him, he places his hand on my neck and massages it with his thumb. It’s an intimate gesture that I love and the fact that he’s doing it now around all of these pretty women, who he probably would have slept with any other time, makes me want him even more. On the elevator, we’re surrounded by people and so he stands behind me, his front to my back. And by the time we get to his condo, I feel too exhausted to walk another step.

  “Her
e.” I say as I pass him the envelope in my hands. “I’m going to shower.”

  “You need anything?” He asks as he takes it and tosses it on the table near the front door. “Coffee? Wine?”

  “No, I’m alright.” I say as I walk towards his room.

  “It’s okay, baby.” He says after me. I turn around and grin at him over my shoulder. He winks and then I’m in his room, peeling my clothes off. I. Am. Exhausted.

  At 4:34 am, when I look at the clock on the bedside table, Malcolm still hasn’t come to bed. I hear him in the living, whispering. I strain my ears but my head is spinning from exhaustion and being awaken out of my sleep. So the only thing I can make out before I doze back off is: Don’t fuck with Red.

  December 6th

  Coffee. I smell coffee. The window is open and the heat is pumping, just the way I like it. I can feel the sweetest chill of Boston Christmastime air breezing through the window. I hear the chatter of cars below. I hear the sound of a train zooming on its tracks. And I smell coffee. I open my eyes and see a tray on the side of his bed that has a tiny spoon, a white coffee mug, (which I’m sure is from Crate and Barrel because I have the same one) and a French coffee press loaded with Starbuck’s Anniversary blend coffee, my favorite (and he knows it). On the side is a small porcelain holder of whipped cream and three sugar cubes. I smile and smooth my hair out of my face. Malcolm always says he likes me best in the morning when my hair is a mess, I’m wearing one of his t-shirts and have absolutely no makeup on. I smile at that thought. I look to the clock before I pour my coffee. It’s 6:50 which means I slept in. I’m usually up at 6:30 but twenty minutes late isn’t that bad considering what I went through last night. I sit up and pour me a cup of coffee, plop a dollop of whip cream inside and use my sugar cubes. I stir my coffee, mixing it so that’s it’s the color of peanut butter and then sit back on the bed.