The Honeymoon is Over Chapter 5

I met Parris in August 1997. My father and I had just closed the deal with the law offices of Daniels, Burgess, and Franklin. On the way out, we ran into my best friend, Sterling Wise, who worked for the firm. I hadn't seen him in a long time and we all talked for a few minutes before getting into an elevator. When the doors opened to the lobby, I saw Parris standing there, waiting. Our eyes locked and she flashed her heart-melting smile at me. Those dimples of hers made me weak in the knees.

My father and I were pressed for time and the brief conversation we'd had with Sterling cut into it as we were supposed to bid on another contract within the hour. As we quickly rushed passed her, I couldn't help but to stop in my tracks and turn around. I had to see this beauty one more time. Just as the elevator doors were about to close, she noticed me looking at her, then quickly reached out and stopped the doors from shutting. The whole time I could feel my dad's eyes on me, although he never said a word. Even if he had, it wouldn't have made one bit of difference. I had to talk to this woman.

The fact that she kept those doors from closing meant the opportunity had presented itself, and I wasn't about to let this woman go without getting her phone number. As I started back to the elevator, she got off so the other people could go on without her. From our brief conversation, I found out she was a schoolteacher and very easy to talk to. We'd still be talking right now if my father hadn't come over and said, "Young lady, will you please give my son your number so we can go?" And that's how it all began.

Now, my dealings with Shenandoah Armstrong were altogether different. No friendly conversations; nothing friendly at all. It was competition from the start. We go all the way back to my basketball days at San Francisco State University. The egghead, a name I use to refer to all Stanford guys, played for the Cardinals. I would wear his ass out on the hardwood every time we played them.

Just as Parris Stalls is between us now, two decades ago or so, another woman was between us-his woman. Because she meant nothing to me, her name escapes me. She was just one in a sea of female admirers who loved hanging around the soon-to-be millionaire basketball star and willing to do anything I asked. And I asked a whole lot of times, indulging my carnal passions with any and all the women I could. Even though we were kids back then, perhaps he loved his woman as much as I loved Parris.

Is that why he's here? Is it because he's got a twenty-year-old score to settle?

The porch light was on, allowing me to see everything as I sat in my car absolutely stunned by what I was seeing. Parris was wearing the same negligee she'd worn a few years back when we were in the nation's capital. When I saw her smile at him, when I saw her look at him the way she used to look at me, my body began to shake uncontrollably; my mind raced as my heart shattered like priceless crystal.

It was my own fault that I was seeing this. I shouldn't have gone over unannounced, especially after our rough break up. It was then that I began to wonder why women followed their men around when they thought their men were seeing other women. Who in their right mind wanted to see the person they loved passionately kissing another? Who actually wanted to see it? I sure as hell didn't, yet here I was looking at it, unable to divert my eyes. Besides, what does a woman do when she catches her man kissing or screwing another woman in the very act? What was I going to do knowing that I was in that very situation?

A woman would never forget the visual as long as she lived. Just as I know I will never forget what I just witnessed. Seeing them together like that will be forever seared in my mind. It could be worse, though. She could be screwing a fourteen or fifteen-year-old like an alarming number of teachers were doing these days. That would add insult to injury.

There could be no denying this-none. Oh my God! Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, she was putting her tongue in his mouth. The same tongue she used to put in mine. I knew Parris, and I knew how she kissed. While I couldn't actually see this, I knew it was happening-knew it!

Out of nowhere, my mind, the same mind that had been in denial for months or perhaps years, began to reveal a truth that would lead me to an agonizing conclusion. The mood swings, the festering anger that lingered, the feeling that something was wrong even though she constantly denied it, all seemed to come from nowhere. Now I realize that her antics were nothing more than an orchestrated waltz, a sordid little script that led to the bad, very bad movie I was watching.

It didn't matter that I had done the same thing to Shenandoah over twenty years ago. Call me a hypocrite if you want. I don't give a damn. What happened in the past was the past! This shit was fresh! And the smell of it was truly foul. I had been a fool, a buffoon, a clown, and a court jester for these two cheaters, and in so doing, crushed my dream of a life with Parris. A myriad of questions ran through my mind all at the same time. As I thought on these things, red hot anger began to simmer.

Was this the first time the lips that belonged to me touched his? It sure didn't look like it. It looked like this had been going on for a long time. The way they were kissing in the doorway for all to see, the way they clung to each other like static clings to clothes, they had to have had sex-more than once-more than twice. It looked like this obsession of theirs, the fire that burned in them both, was a five-alarm blaze that no amount of water could douse.

Did they discuss me? Were they laughing at me? Were they discussing our sex life? Was he a better lover than me? Was his dick bigger than mine? All of those questions ran through my mind like an out of control locomotive. As the train of questions raced through my sensitive mind, as my heart broke more and more, a jealous rage replaced the love I felt for Parris and dominated my unforgiving mind. Just like that, my love was devoured and swallowed whole by an unflinching desire for vengeance.

As the tears formed, I fought them back.

I was going to be strong.

I wouldn't cry. Not over a woman-not over a bitch-not over a whore-never!

But I would kill the bitch! The whore! She broke my heart!

I was going to kill both of them.

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