“Patrick is in court.” I walked behind her, hoping that she would turn right around and leave. “He won’t be in until tonight.”
“Good.” She made a show out of sitting down elegantly on the sofa as if she were royalty. “That gives us an opportunity to get to know one another.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” She patted the spot beside her. “Sit down, Brooke. We need to have a one-on-one discussion about what it means to be a woman.”
I stood by the sofa and crossed my arms in defiance. “I have a wonderful mother who has already taught me what it means to be a woman.”
She smirked. “Oh, yeah, the schoolteacher.”
I sat down on the armchair opposite her, realizing any hopes of her immediate exit had vanished. “Teaching school is an admirable profession. Even the socially elite get an education, right?”
“We’re provided the best education that money can buy.”
“But you’re taught by teachers.”
She cleared her throat. “I feel a bit parched.”
I motioned my head to the left. “There are two faucets in the kitchen; full of plenty of water.”
Her head flew back in alarm. “Tap water? Are you insane?”
I laughed. “Mrs. Sterling, you and I have zilch in common, so it’s useless for us to even attempt to engage in a discussion. I did ask Patrick to speak with you about being civil toward me, but, believe me, I wasn’t seeking any form of attention or affection from you.”
“You’re wide off the mark, Brooke. We have something very important in common. My son.”
She had a valid point. “That’s true enough, and I’m doing my part to keep him satisfied. By being nice to me, you can make his life a whole lot easier.”
“Or you can make everyone jump for joy and depart the premises, and Patrick’s life.”
I stood up. “This conversation is over. I’m going to politely ask you to leave … now.”
“This is my son’s place. I’m not going anywhere.”
“This is our place and you are going. How did you even get up here?”
“The doorman let me up, of course. I’m his mother.”
“You keep flinging your motherhood around like it’s a recent development. We all recognize that you’re Patrick’s mother, but I’m the woman who shares his bed every night and—”
“One of his beds, dear. One of his beds.”
“What the fuck do you mean by that?”
She got up from the sofa and started gathering her things. “I didn’t come here for you to curse me. This is so below my level.” She eyed me up and down. “And so are you.”
“Everyone’s below your level!” I yelled at her as she headed for the door.
“No, not everyone.” She turned to face me and stopped in her tracks. “I have plenty of friends who meet my standards, and they have stunningly beautiful daughters who are better suited for Patrick’s needs.”
“I fulfill his needs,” I stated defensively. “If Patrick didn’t love me, he wouldn’t be with me. Only me.”
Mrs. Sterling laughed. “You’re completely delusional. Look at you, all fat and nasty. I’m mortified that my son has resorted to dealing with scrap waste.”
“You’re scrap waste, with your cosmetic surgery, tummy tucks, and Botox injections.”
“The best Botox that money can buy.” She touched my stomach and I pushed her hand away. “That’s it. Isn’t your birthday coming up? Why don’t you let me give you gastric-bypass surgery for a present? George Washington Hospital has this great doctor who—”
“First off, fuck you and your offer. Second, I wouldn’t put it past you to attempt to pay some doctor to kill me on the operating table.”
Mrs. Sterling laughed. “I’d never take things that far. Things will work themselves out perfectly. They always do.”
“Now what does that shit mean?”
“I don’t know why I’m so surprised at your rank mouth, based on your upbringing, but it still upsets me.”
“So fuckin’ what?”
She flung her bag up on her shoulder. “Before I depart, I have one last thing to say to you. Feel free to take it any way you wish.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Take your last dig at me and bounce.”
“If you think for one second that my pussy hound of a son is being faithful to you, you’re an idiot. He’ll never be faithful to one woman; especially one who has let herself go. Don’t be surprised when all of this blows up in your face. After you’re long gone and nothing but a distant memory, I will still be his mother.”
She walked out and started pressing the button for the private penthouse elevator.
“No, you will still be a bitch!” I yelled, and slammed the door.
When I arrived home from the diner around eleven thirty that night, Patrick was lying in wait for me at the door.
I decided to preempt his verbal abuse. “Yes, I did call your mother a bitch and I don’t feel one iota of regret for it. She is a bitch.”
“You always ruin things,” Patrick said, dropping his arms to the side and leering at me. “I’m not standing here to start an argument.”
“Oh, come on.” I kicked my shoes off in the foyer, as always. I hated to trek the odors of the food from the diner throughout the penthouse. It was bad enough that they were in my hair and on my clothing. “I’m sure your mother couldn’t wait to call you to tell you what transpired.”
“Actually, she didn’t call. She was in my office when I got out of court.”
I closed the closet door, after putting my shoes inside, and leaned on it. “Great! I’m sure it was very theatrical. She showed up here and started in on me; not the other way around. I told you before that I was sick of her treating me like shit. She had the audacity to call me a piece of ‘scrap waste.’ ”
“I understand,” he said, shocking the hell out of me. “She was totally out of line and I told her so. I asked her to never come over here and bother you again. If you don’t want to deal with Mom, you don’t have to. That’s a bunch of unneeded pressure and stress on our relationship, and we have an adequate amount of issues already.”
“You can say that again. I’m beginning to feel like we can’t resolve them either.”
“Yes, we can. Things have been going good between us the last couple of weeks. Haven’t they?”
“I’ve tried, but I didn’t need your mother showing up here. What was her point? Did you know she was coming?”
“Brooke, I wouldn’t be crazy enough to stroll out of here and leave you to face my mother alone. If I’d known, I would’ve cut her off at the pass or even missed court if I had to. She insists that she was trying to make amends with you and things went awry.”
“Your mother came here to belittle and demean me, period. She came here to plant a seed in my head that you’re cheating with other women, too.”
Patrick stood there like he was stunned. “Cheating!”
“Cheating, as in sticking your dick inside other women. You know, doing the nasty; knocking boots; fucking.”
“I know what the hell cheating means. I don’t have a clue what Mom was thinking. I haven’t so much as looked at another woman since we’ve been together.”
I rolled my eyes and sighed. He was lying and we both knew it. All men look at other women and contemplate the possibilities, whether they take action or not.
Patrick took my hand into his. “I want you to recognize the strength of the love that I have for you. I asked you to marry me, but you refused and—”
“I didn’t refuse. We’re not in that place yet; that’s all. Nothing would make me happier than to eventually become your wife, but … we have some things we need to work out.”
“Okay, well, I am ready, willing, and able. First, I want you to see your surprise.”
“Surprise?”
“Yes, that’s the reason I was standing in the doorway. After hearing about what happened between you and Mom, I wanted to
try to ease your stress, so I planned a special evening for us.”
“But it’s almost midnight, and I smell like grease and a bunch of other crap.”
“That’s why you need a nice, relaxing bath.”
Patrick pulled me into the living room, and a wide grin spread across my face. Roses of all different colors were all over the place—red, white, yellow, and pink. “Wow, did you procure the entire florist shop or what?”
He chuckled. “I left a few for the next man who wants to make an impression on his woman.”
“I’m definitely impressed … and grateful. I don’t want you to think that I don’t appreciate you, Patrick. I realize that you do so much for me; that’s part of what bothers me. I should be able to do more to make this relationship equal.”
“It is equal.”
“No, it’s not. I’m a waitress and you’re a lawyer, for goodness’ sake. Then, to top it off, you come from old money and I come from no money.”
“Your parents are great!”
“Yes, they are, but any way you size it up, we come from diverse worlds.”
“I met you waiting tables. Did that stop me?”
“No, but—”
“But nothing. You’re the woman for me, the only woman I need. If it takes me forever and a day to prove it to you, then so be it. I’m never giving up on us. Never.”
Patrick had a luxurious bath waiting for me, complete with more roses surrounding our step-down tub and petals scattered across the top of the water. We drank champagne and gazed into each other’s eyes for more than an hour.
The water began to turn cold, despite our letting some out and replacing it with hot water every ten minutes or so.
“You’re getting goose bumps,” Patrick said as I sat between his legs with my back snuggled up against his chest. “Ready to get out?”
“No, it’s so peaceful here. Besides, I got a buzz and I might bust my ass trying to get out of this tub right now.”
Patrick laughed and rubbed my shoulders before planting a kiss on the left one. “You know that I’ll always protect you.”
“I didn’t mean to yell at you earlier.” I took soap and a washcloth and starting washing his legs. “I jumped to conclusions when I saw you standing in the doorway.”
“You thought something was about to get set off, huh?”
We both laughed.
“Something like that,” I replied. “I must admit that I’m shocked.”
“About what?”
“Do you realize that this is the first time that you’ve ever actually defended me with your mother?”
“No, it’s not. I’ve spoken to Mom plenty of times, but she’s set in her ways.”
“Well, her ways could use a lot of improvement.”
I could hear Patrick suck in air, trying to hold back a comment.
“I realize that you don’t like someone talking about your mother, baby. Nobody does, but I only come out swinging when she attacks me.”
“Brooke, my mother is used to me dating more—”
I turned to face him. “More what?”
“Never mind.”
“No, fuck that. More what?”
He shrugged. “You’re the first woman that I’ve been with who doesn’t have a graduate degree or a real profession.”
I started to get up, covered with suds.
“I thought you wanted to chill in here for a while,” he said.
“Never mind!”
BY the time Patrick came out of the bathroom, I was under the covers with thermal pajamas on, even though it was midsummer. I didn’t want him to get any funny ideas. The pajamas didn’t deter him for a second. As soon as he climbed in behind me naked, I could smell his minty-fresh toothpaste breath as he whispered in my ear, “You want some of this dick, don’t you?”
“No, I’ll pass.”
He started groping at my top and rubbing my breasts. “Oh, come on, Brooke. Don’t be that way.”
“Patrick, if you think that I’m so beneath you, why bother? I’ll pack my shit and be out of here tomorrow morning.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he blared, and started to yank my top up, exposing my chest. He rolled me toward him and started devouring my right nipple.
“Stop!” I tried to push him off, but he kept on sucking.
Patrick knew how to pacify me. When he sucked on my breasts, it was my weakness. Soon, I’d calmed down and was content to allow him to have his way. He pulled the top completely off me, then yanked the bottoms off.
He buried his face in my pussy and started licking and moaning, and I let it go and enjoyed the ten minutes or so that he satisfied his hunger.
I was hoping it would last longer because I knew what came next. As soon as he came up for air, he was pulling his body up toward the headboard. His dick slapped me in the forehead. At first, I turned my head to the left.
“Brooke, you know I need my medicine. Come on. Don’t be such a bitch!”
I glared up at him. “What did you call me?”
He sighed. “It’s a figure of speech.” He tried to use his hand to guide his dick in my mouth. “Suck it for a few minutes. It’ll make us both feel better.”
“Fine, let’s get it over with.” I engulfed as much of his dick in my mouth as I could manage.
“That’s right, baby,” he whispered, grabbing on to the headboard so he could maneuver the way he fed me his dick. “Take all of Magnum in. Aw, you excite me so much, baby, even though you’ve gained a lot of weight.”
I rolled my eyes, despite the fact that he had his closed and was lost in his own little world. I always felt humiliated when he insisted that I suck his dick on demand. It was different when I actually wanted to give head—which was rarely—but it was exhilarating because it was something I yearned to do, as opposed to being pressured into. That weight comment didn’t sit right with me either. Why did he always have to bring it up?
Patrick came in my mouth and I swallowed quickly, hoping he would get off me so I could go brush my teeth and gargle. Instead, he lowered himself down, placed his flaccid dick between my legs, and started grinding against my wetness to get another erection.
He started kissing me on my neck, then had the audacity to try to kiss me on the mouth.
“Are you crazy?” I asked. “I have your semen in my mouth.”
“So, it’s my semen,” he said, making another attempt. I turned my head. “Don’t be so frigid.”
“It has nothing to do with being frigid. It has to do with being nasty.” I tried to get up, to no avail. “Let me go gargle and then we can kiss.”
Patrick flew into a rage. “Brooke, I’m so sick of your shit!”
“Then get off me.”
He spread my legs open wider and held them open, starting to grind harder. Damn if his dick was not hard in a few seconds. All the blood must have warped into his scrotum.
“I’m going to give you this dick. I know you want it!” he nearly yelled.
“I want to go to sleep,” I said, realizing that he was going to fuck me senseless regardless.
“After I’m done,” Patrick said, and started handling his business.
Damon
August 4, 2007
Hot Springs, Virginia
I DECIDED to surprise Carleigh with a weekend getaway to the Homestead resort in Hot Springs, Virginia. It had long been on our list of places to visit during our marriage; yet we had never managed to get there. She was feeling depressed. Two more house sales had fallen through; neither couple could qualify for a loan. Carleigh lost nearly $40,000 in commissions that she had been counting on. She was devastated and contemplating a change of profession.
Realtors and mortgage companies in the area—and nationwide, for that matter—were shutting down daily, vacating their luxury offices in upscale office complexes. People who had paid 900K for their homes a year or two before were sick to their stomachs when signs in their communities advertised the same homes for 600K and up. Even I was getting
heated because the median home price in my neighborhood had taken a nosedive. I dreaded finding myself in the midst of people who couldn’t sell their house for what they’d paid for it—or even for what they still owed on it.
The Homestead offered an “Enchanted Romance Package” from May through October. It included a suite upgrade, breakfast and dinner daily, champagne, flowers and chocolates upon arrival, a carriage ride, and a fifty-minute Swedish massage for each of us. We had arrived the night before and made love from nine until midnight. It was incredible. Now it was Saturday and we were ready to explore the resort. They had three championship golf courses. I’d brought my clubs along, just in case. Carleigh didn’t golf, but if she wanted to split up and indulge in some additional spa services, I would certainly play a round. However, only if she suggested it; I wasn’t going to leave her side otherwise. I wanted to rekindle our relationship; things were going well thus far. The Friday-night sex was the best we’d had in quite some time, with no feelings of animosity.
Carleigh was stunning in a black shorts set and flat sandals. She always kept her toes pedicured, and her skin was as smooth and flawless as ever. Her hair was swept up into a bun and held with a gold hairpin. Even in a simple outfit, my wife was still a looker. Yet, as we walked through the resort, all eyes seemed to be more on me. I had on a white golf shirt, khaki, knee-length shorts, and sneakers. Women were trying to get my attention, and some were brazen in their efforts, not caring whether Carleigh was aware of the mockery they were making of themselves or not. As usual, she seemed to take pleasure in it. At one point, during breakfast, she whispered, “Do you realize that half the women in this dining room want to fuck the living daylights out of you?”
I laughed uneasily. “Only half?”
“Okay, so maybe three-fourths.”
She took another bite of her scrambled eggs and clamped her mouth shut to chew. When she was done, she added, “I wonder if I walked up to one of them and made a proposal, if they’d be willing to give up some cash.”
“Carleigh, you can’t be serious!” I gawked, then pointed to her plate. “You’re trippin’. Finish your food so we can go for a walk.”