Bad Habits Part 14

"How do you jump from Yankee Doodle Dandee to Michael Jefferson?"

He shrugged and she laughed again, before being reduced to giggles. "I would love to hear you play. I think." They both laughed and then fell into a comfortable silence. She was having such a good time. He was funny, smart, cute and easy to talk to. She felt awkward at first. She wasn't blind. Those long looks from him weren't just friendly neighbor looks. A woman knows when a man is checking her out. But it was harmless flirting. Besides his wife looked like some kind of old Hollywood movie star. She was so pretty. Surely he preferred the pale blonde type.

"How did you and your wife meet?" she blurted out. She'd been dying to know ever since she saw her take his b.a.l.l.s and put them on for earrings on that terrace. She'd never dare talk to Keith that way.

"College. We met in college. I was there on a band scholars.h.i.+p, you know, before I lost all the weight."

Simone choked. Cain smiled patting her back. "You okay?"

She picked up the c.o.c.ktail napkin and pressed it to her mouth. It took a moment for her to speak. "Yeah, yeah, you were?"

"No, it was academic, but I couldn't resist." Cain teased.

"You are a regular comedian."

"I wish. Just, unfortunately, your average Joe. Maryanne was at a party. She caught my eye. Kind of fell into it after that." He slipped her a look. It was clear that her turn was coming. "So how did you meet your husband?"

Bam. And there it was.

"A client."

"Client huh?" he asked with evident interest.

She hit his arm playfully. "Not that kind of client," she laughed. She should have been insulted but she wasn't. She liked the fact that he wasn't so stiff and proper and that he'd say anything. It felt like someone just opened a window and let in fresh air. She inhaled him, that masculine confidence that made her feel girly. That and the martini. "Fancie Collins was my client. I'm a stylist."

"Grant Collins' wife? The senior partner?" he asked.

"The one and the same. He was a new up and coming executive and she wanted to fix me up. Keith was way out of my league," she said shyly. Fancie is Brazilian, married to a 70-year-old white man richer than Donald Trump. Not surprising in New York, but she could imagine what those in Castle Rock would think.

"Why is that?" he frowned. She looked over realizing she was talking too much. "Oh, he's great. Really fantastic. He went to Princeton. His father is a judge and his mother a socialite, descended from some famous black scholar. Forget his name. My husband was born for success or something," she shrugged.

"Born for success? Yeah, I know that kind," he replied bitterly. She glanced over and then away again.

"Back to your question. How I met Keith. I was at this dinner party, and he ignored me the entire night. Said the usual, you know what I mean. Where are you from? What school did you attend, all that jazz."

Cain stared, and she drank a little more. f.u.c.k it! She needed to talk, and he was listening. It felt good to talk to someone other than that therapist who happened to be a friend of the Livingston family. She always felt like his family and everyone else in his world was looking down on her. "Like I said, he ignored me. Then the night was over and I was leaving. I was a little disappointed, but he caught up with me. Totally caught me off guard. He was much different outside of his co-workers. Told me that I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Asked me for my phone number and offered to take me to an off-Broadway show that his fraternity brother produced. I agreed, and the rest..." She wiggled her ring finger, catching the spark of the waning sunrays pouring in on her emerald cut diamond "The rest is history."

"He's a lucky man, Simone."

She looked into his eyes again. If she thought it was there before, she saw it clearly now, desire. She couldn't speak in the face of it. She couldn't believe she encouraged it, and now she wished she hadn't. Because the harmless flirting and three martinis made him so tempting, and that was a dreadful sin, to be tempted by another man other than her husband for affection. Is this how Keith and Stacy started? What a hypocrite she was.

"Simone?"

She blinked out of the trance and spotted her husband. He walked toward them, not really acknowledging Cain and checking his watch as he approached. "I've been looking for you for the past ten minutes," he said touching her back and kissing her forehead.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I knew you were busy."

"Let's go. Now." Eventually he did look to Cain. "Good game. See you on Monday?"

"Right, have a nice evening. Nice talking to you, Simone." She wimped out and just gave him a half smile, easing off the stool and taking Keith's hand. But Cain boldly kept his eyes on her as they left. She looked back once to see him still staring. Keith tugged on her hand and led her away. Shaking her head, she second-guessed it. It was a harmless drink. That's all it was.

He said it was all under control. Even after she shared the snide comments of Bonnie and Maryanne Hollingsworth, he said it was under control. Funny, she didn't feel that way. She worried that he was in over his head. She tried to force the discussion, and he cut her off abruptly. Simone gave up.

Now she lay next to him with his s.e.m.e.n sticky between her thighs. She smelled of him, of s.e.x and sweat. She made love with him as he wished, giving and getting little in return; a reward for a s.h.i.+tty day, and an even s.h.i.+ttier night. Keith simply got his way like always. Simone rolled her eyes, throwing back the sheet. No longer did she feel desire or pa.s.sion for him. She lay beneath him, waiting for it to be over. It broke her heart. He was once her baby, her best friend. What happened to them?

"Where are you going?" he grumbled.

"Shower. I need one."

"Stay," he said, reaching to pull her under him.

"No," she said knocking his hand away. Why should she stay? Why should she even try? She padded out of the dark room, throwing her silk robe over her nakedness. She'd take a shower in the bathroom down the hall so he wouldn't join. She'd wash it all away.

He walked through the lower level of his house, cutting off the lights, shutting off lamps. Maryanne had retired early with a book, offering to give him a back rub. She said he seemed a bit strained. Of course he felt restless. He decided to burn off that energy in the gym in their bas.e.m.e.nt instead of their bed. Still he wasn't close to being ready for sleep. Maybe he would f.u.c.k her and work out his frustration.

Climbing the stairs, he stopped at the crossroad. With the bathroom to the left and the bedroom to the right, he headed for the bathroom to shower. Once inside, he didn't bother to flick on the light. The moonlight was bright enough to partially illuminate the room. Cain stepped to the commode and took a whizz. He flushed, shook his d.i.c.k then dropped it back in his pajama pants. He went to the sink and rubbed soap into his palms then washed them under the warm tap.

The window was open. A cool breeze blew inside and he looked out. There was something about that breeze and the way it felt over his feverish skin. It was like a caress. It drew him. He stepped away from the sink to the other side of the toilet, closer to the window. The Livingston's house was close to the model and style of their own. The upstairs guest bathrooms faced each other.

He saw her.

He didn't mean to.

He hadn't planned on it. But he saw her. She stared at herself in the mirror, topless. Her hair lay limp to her shoulders. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, round and perfect in shape, had a natural lift, dark nipples pointing outward. Then she turned and he got a full view of her. She froze, staring directly at him. Cain stepped back, caught. His leg hit the commode causing the lid to fall shut. She s.n.a.t.c.hed a towel to cover herself, but she wasn't as hurried as he expected. She did cover herself, but continued to look at him. Possibly, she didn't see him in the shadows of his dark bathroom. Maybe she just thought she did. He backed away, breathing hard. Hoping she didn't, but he felt she knew that he saw her clearly, saw her beauty and too much of it. It was more than he would have dared taken the liberty to know. He closed his eyes and waited for a few seconds. A b.o.n.e.r in his pants, he reopened his eyes and stepped forward. She was gone.

"s.h.i.+t. Now she thinks I'm some pervert? f.u.c.k. Did she see me?"

"What are you doing?" Maryanne asked, flipping on the bathroom light.

"Turn it off!" he hissed.

His wife blinked at him, shocked. He knocked the bathroom light off and then stormed out. He looked back to see Maryanne staring after him then looking to the window. He rubbed out his erection.

What the f.u.c.k just happened? He wondered. It was an accident. But even he couldn't deny the burn in his c.o.c.k from the mere sight of her. He had really f.u.c.ked up.

"Simone! Simone. Simone?"

"Huh?" she looked up, and then turned. Had he been calling her?

The tap ran from the faucet, swirling down the drain. It was the only sound she had heard. She turned it off. How long had it been running? "Yes?"

"Something wrong? Didn't you hear me calling you?" He looked on with concern in his eyes. She rubbed her left brow to push back her fugue state. How does one tell her husband that she was daydreaming about a forbidden action in the night? How does one explain away her brazen behavior? Does she say: Hey honey, want eggs for breakfast? Oh and by the way last night when I went to take a shower, I flashed our neighbor my t.i.ts. For a minute, she studied Keith trying to gauge his reaction. Would he be jealous and angry? Or would he even care? She'd never looked at another man since the day she gave him her heart. Sure, she noticed attractive men like any other woman, but never did she act on it.

She was so embarra.s.sed.

"You really need to get yourself together. You sat through breakfast like a zombie," Keith said with an exasperated sigh. He went to the fridge and retrieved a bottle of water.

"Don't start this morning, Keith. I'm not in the mood."

"Where's my tennis racket?" He opened the bottle and gulped down a few swigs. Then he screwed the cap on tight. "You unpacked things in here, and I can't find s.h.i.+t, Simone! I've looked in all the closets. How many closets are in this place? Christ!"

The urge to lash out rose in her throat like a black wave of repressed obscenities. She needed to channel that energy into something more worthy-fighting over a misplaced tennis racket didn't make the cut. So she reined in her temper. His and hers together would make for a miserable Sunday. That's not what she wanted. In fact, she was suddenly quite tuned in to her needs. She wanted him to make her feel like that peepshow with Cain Gatlin did-wanted. "I think I packed it in the bas.e.m.e.nt. I'll go look," she offered, tossing the dishrag to the sink. She walked around the kitchen island toward the stairs, but he effectively cut her off. This time she caught a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes. He pinched her chin and lifted it to tilt her head back and study her face. "What's wrong with you, babe? Did I do something?"

"I'm fine, Keith." she stepped back, jerking her chin away. "Do you want the tennis racket or not?" she asked. His eyes narrowed on her. She blew out a breath, wiping her hands on her sides. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap, but you come in here and... what do you need the tennis racket for anyway?"

"The club, so get dressed. Andrew Hollingsworth wants us there for lunch and a game of tennis."

She was truly taken aback. He agreed to their finding a church together. She saw one on the way in that was Methodist. Close enough. He said he would attend with her. Now this? Tennis? The club again with those people? She couldn't stomach it, especially after what happened last night.

"You have a problem with that?" he asked.

"Are you kidding me? Yes, I have a problem with that. I'm not going back there today. We spent all yesterday at that place."

He smirked, "It's a country club. You are supposed to spend the weekends there. It's how it's done."

The condescension in his tone made her want to smack him. "No, Keith. Sunday is the Lord's day. If those hypocrites had a spiritual bone in their bodies, they'd be in church! That's how it's done."

"Don't get self righteous with me, Simone. You and I know better," Keith snickered.

"What does that mean? I have my faith," Simone snapped.

"When it suits you."

"How dare-"

"Forget it. We will be attending church. Starting next week we will be attending services with the Hollingsworths. Our Lady Catherine is near the club. We pa.s.sed it yesterday."

"It's Catholic!"

"What difference does that make? They all pray to the same G.o.d."

"I'm not going to a Catholic church. Why would you want to play these games at church, Keith? That makes no sense."

"IT'S NOT A GAME! IT'S OUR LIFE, d.a.m.n IT! THE ONE I'M FIGHTING TO BUILD FOR US!" he shouted her down. Simone backed away. She didn't hide the hurt in her eyes. He smacked his forehead. "What the h.e.l.l are we fighting for? We had a good day yesterday. You had fun. I saw you grinning with that moron, Cain Gatlin."

She dismissed the remark about Cain. She dismissed the way his nostrils flared, and he glared at her. She focused on one thing. Him, and who he really was underneath. She had been fooled when they dated. Fooled into believing he was so principled and together that he had done her the favor by choosing her. Dennis called it before she married him. G.o.d rest his soul, but he did. Dennis told her after they were engaged that Keith was the 'special negro'. Translation: a sn.o.b. She didn't want to believe it. She really thought Keith and she were kindred. Now it scared her how wrong she was.

"You made these plans without consulting me, Keith," Simone said.

"What is it you have to do anyway? Laundry? I'm trying to get you out so you can build relations.h.i.+ps; friends.h.i.+ps and you're fighting me? So typical, Simone!"

"No, correction, you are building relations.h.i.+ps for you! What's typical is your lack of respect for me. I don't like those people, and trust me, Keith, they don't like us either. So you go. I'm staying home."

His eyes stretched at her refusal. His mouth dropped open, unsure of the right response. She never refused him anything. He got it on a silver platter whenever he asked. Well she didn't give a s.h.i.+t. She needed some s.p.a.ce. "Excuse me."

"Hey." He grabbed her arm. "What have I done? You're angry with me again? For what now? The therapist said-"

"Oh to h.e.l.l with that d.a.m.n therapist." She s.n.a.t.c.hed away and marched out. She was nearly in tears by the time she made it to the stairs. Climbing, she forced back the sob in her throat. He was making her crazy. She was a crazy married woman that flashed her next-door neighbor in the middle of the night. She saw Cain watching her. She would have covered. She would have, but it was the way he watched her that stopped her. It was also the way he looked at her from the shadows. Brief as it was, his eyes followed her into her dreams, haunted her through breakfast and made even another minute arguing with her husband intolerable.

"Simone! We're going! Do you hear me?" he yelled from below.

She slammed the door and threw her back against it. "Like h.e.l.l I will. Like h.e.l.l."

"Hey?" Maryanne eased up behind him, rubbing her face against his bare back. She slipped her arms around his waist. "Mmm, what you doing?"

What a silly question. He stood at the sink gurgling, slos.h.i.+ng the rinse around in his mouth. Then he felt the delicate kisses she started to layer upon his back. Her soft hands ran up and down his chest. He moved away to spit in the toilet. He could hear her suck her teeth in frustration. "Cain?"

He flushed.

"Last night you went straight to sleep. This morning you wouldn't wake, and now, d.a.m.n it, sweetheart, how long is this going to last? I told you I was sorry."

Cain turned around and faced at her. She was dressed for a day at the club-tennis with mother. Would the Livingstons join? It was all the more reason for him not to go. He couldn't face Simone Livingston, not after last night. He f.u.c.ked up. Even though he didn't mean to, he f.u.c.ked up. The things he envisioned now whenever he closed his eyes were adulterous. He could kick himself for even going there.

"I'll call Joseph and invite him to Martha's Vineyard. I'll apologize for cancelling our trip. I love you, sweetheart. You know I do. Why else would I be begging just to be with you?" Maryanne said. She kissed him, then under his neck. Then lower. "When was the last time you had it in my mouth? You know you like it when I suck you and touch you here." She went low. Cain opened his mouth to object, but she had his d.i.c.k out of the front of his pajama pants in minutes. His eyes fluttered when she flattened her tongue and ran it up over his shaft. He grew thick and hard when her mouth eased in to swallow him. He was caught then. He dropped his head back as she worked her jaws like a vacuum. His lids parted, and his head turned toward the window. She stood there naked, staring at him. It was a look he couldn't let go. Before long, he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed a hot stream down his wife's throat.

Maryanne rose, chuckling. "That was fast."

He put his c.o.c.k in his pajama pants and turned from her, trying to push images of Simone from his head. He felt so d.a.m.n guilty for it. What the f.u.c.k was happening to him? He heard Maryanne at the sink cleaning her face, rinsing. When he looked back, she smiled sweetly. "See, you miss me. Don't you?"

"Yeah," he forced out. "Yeah," he said, suffering deep pangs of guilt and bringing her into his arms. She hugged him and smiled. He ran his hand up and down her back. She hugged him tight.

"Plus, we're supposed to be working on the baby," she chuckled. "That's always fun."

Just when he softened to her, wanted to make her his woman again, she opened her mouth and reminded him how much of a sneaky b.i.t.c.h she could be. Cain sighed in disappointment as she held to him-lying. He didn't call her on it. Again, he just didn't care to. But the fact that she tried to keep him in line with s.e.x and sweet apologies did p.i.s.s him off. Maryanne withdrew. She tossed her golden locks and gave him that bedroom look that at one time had him eating her p.u.s.s.y all day. "When was the last time you really f.u.c.ked me? Huh?" She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, her hand slipping down to cup and grab his d.i.c.k. She squeezed, and he felt his b.a.l.l.s tighten. His hand went to hers. "Go to the club. Play with Mother. Not in the mood for your games."

"You were in the mood a minute ago. I could get it back up for you."

"I'm serious."

"Cain!" she pouted. He tried to move and she sidestepped him. "I have news."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Your mother. You haven't told Joseph about her, have you?" She moved in close. "I felt bad for the crack I made the other day. I called up there to set up a visit. They said she's doing better, Cain. We can drive up next weekend if you want."

"Why would you do that?" he asked puzzled.

She touched his face. "You're my husband. I told you I love you, and I meant it. That place is the best in the country. Daddy has spared no expense. I want you to see that you made the best choice. You did the right thing. Oh, baby, I know how much it upsets you." She slipped her arms around his neck. Her lips brushed his, and then her tongue slipped in. He held her and kissed her back. Part of him wished he was still the same man he was before he sold his soul to Andrew Hollingsworth. He also wished Maryanne was the carefree sweet girl from their school days. Part of him just wished them all away. She broke the kiss before he did. "You sure about that quickie, Cain?"

"Go to the club and...I'll be here. We can talk tonight," he said. She stepped back, searching his face to see if it was the truth. He thought she could see the betrayal in him the way she stayed and that she could conjure the images of Keith Livingston's wife from his brain. But she smiled brightly.