Respect Me, Part 1 by Nia Arthurs
Jerrison
“What are you doing here?”I hiss. My fingers drift over the wine glasses on display. Crisp white napkins are folded in elegant designs. An ice sculpture melts from the heat of the crowd.
“I was invited.” Ashley selects a cup. Two slender fingers slide against the stem, lifting the base with easy seduction. It’s an innocent gesture and yet, so extremely arousing that I can’t help but touch her.
It’s nothing outrageous. A hand to her elbow. A finger skimming her arm.
“It’s dangerous. My wife is here.”
“Dangerous is not the word I would use.” Ashley glances over her shoulder. Her lips turn down. “She’s more beautiful in person than in the pictures.”
“You saw pictures of Harriet?”
“I looked her up.” Thin eyebrows form a worried V. “Her parents are divorced. She bounced between her mom and her dad. Her father owned a gym and she learned how to box there although she never competed.”
My laughter is soft. “You’re worried she’s going to beat you up if she finds out?”
“I’m worried you’re not going to stop her if she does.” Ashley’s eyes bore into me.
I lift a wine glass and take a sip. It’s tart, but it goes down warm.
Ashley presses in, a little too close for polite conversation. A little too intimate. The perfume on her skin is expensive. Rare. I inhale deeply and imagine my fingers stroking her skin instead of the wine glass.
Then my eyes slide to Harriet. She’s speaking to two of my investors. They’re eating out of her hands. Starry eyes. Booming laughter. Ruddy cheeks that get darker and darker the longer she pays attention to them.
Even idiots know when they are standing among royalty.
From her confident stance to the dip of her head and the soft play of her hair across her shoulders, she’s completely in control. A queen in her court.
Ashley follows my line of sight and scowls. “You’ve been acting different these past two weeks.”
“Have I?” A smirk plays beneath the wine glass. The liquor sloshes against my mouth.
Harriet is playing with her necklace. It’s a sign that she’s over their company. Ready to move on to more invigorating conversation. And they won’t move on. Refuse to let her go. One of the men eases a little closer to her.
My fingers tighten on the glass. Instinct tells me to go over there and remind them that Harriet is mine.
A hand on my arm stops me. “What’s going on, Jerrison?”
It’s Ashley. Beautiful, intelligent, no-drama Ashley.
I tilt my head. “What are you talking about?”
“Are things getting better with your wife?” She hurls it like an accusation. Like a murder charge. “Is that why you’re acting weird?”
“Stop talking nonsense.” I glance around and quickly slide my fingers through hers, “I still love you.” With those four words, she melts into a chocolate puddle. I stroke her knuckles with my thumb. “Nothing is going to change that. Okay? I still want to be with you.”
She flicks her tongue across her bottom lip. Jerks my hand so it falls against her side. “Take me somewhere. Anywhere.” Her words are breathy. They carry the scent of wine and decadence. “I don’t want to share you right now.”
“Baby, people are listening,” I caution her.
“So? Let’s find somewhere private.” She bites down on her lip. “I need to feel you, Jerrison.”
“Ash…”
“I’m sure we could find a room that isn’t occupied.” She’s elegant, beautiful and practically begging me to screw her.
But I don’t.
Fuentes pops into my mind. The kid nearly plowed me over with his enthusiasm for my marriage. Something about the young athlete’s starry-eyed gaze and passionate speech about good men looking after their families made something inside me pause. Not with guilt, per say, but it definitely touched a nerve.
Ashley is looking like a meal tonight, and I want to indulge. But I respect Harriet and I think she deserves to have me to herself. At least until the party’s over.
Releasing Ashley’s hand, I shake my head. “It’s too risky. I’ll stop by tonight instead.”
“But…” She pouts.
I don’t stick around to hear what she says next.
I’m already walking. Then I’m jogging. Then I’m in front of Harriet.
She looks… disturbed. Her shoulders are curling forward. Her neck’s bent like someone took a twig and snapped it. Dark eyes swell out of her face, swimming in shades of red distress.
I place my hand on her back. “Babe, are you okay?”
“Fine.” She steps away from me. Dances back like I’ve got a contagious disease.
My concern spikes. “Harriet, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
At that moment, there’s a sharp sound of metal against glass. It’s Fuentes hitting his champagne with a fork.
He waits until the room quiets before he yells, “Goodnight, everyone! First, I’d like to thank my agent for throwing this party for me!” He lifts a champagne glass in my direction. “You a real one, Mr. B.”
I force a smile and lift a hand in acknowledgment.
Applause breaks out despite my reluctant response.
Fuentes turns in a slow circle. “Boxing is my dream, but more importantly, working with people of integrity, honor and high moral standards is something that means the world to me. I would have been in jail—or worse… dead—had I not met people who steered me down the right path. This world has enough folks who are selfish, cold and cruel. It’s time for those who prioritize their family, those who are patient and self-sacrificing, to win for a change.”
All around us, glasses shoot high to the ceiling. Champagne and booze slosh over rims. Booms of agreement rise from the crowd.
“To my husband!” Harriet lifts her glass. Tilting her wine at Fuentes, she says, “Jerrison is the living embodiment of selflessness, discipline and self-restraint.”
Fuentes roars. “Hear, hear!”
The music strikes up.
Couples moves to the dance floor to party.
Harriet drains the rest of her glass and plunks it on the table.
I grip her arm, sensing the tenseness in her body and the nearly unhinged look in her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I think I might have drank a little too much.”
My surveying gaze skips over the table. There’s only one glass.
“I’m ready to go home.” She faces me, a hand on her hip.
I glance at the people on the dance floor. “Already? The party’s just getting started.”
“Exactly.” She gestures to the crowd. “The main event is over. People are just going to get drunk and stupid from here on out.” When I still hesitate, she steps closer and drops her voice to a somber threat, “Take me home or I’m going on my own. You decide.”
I pin my lips together. What is her problem? Everything was fine when we left home. Now she seems even more on edge than ever.
We’re stopped constantly on our way to the door. Harriet hides her annoyance well and I start to wonder if I’d imagined the anger in her eyes.
I keep my hand on her back as we say our goodbyes. Wrap my arms around her waist as we head down the stairs. Help her step into the car when the valet brings it out front.
I assume our argument is over.
But I’m dead wrong.
The cold resurfaces the moment we’re back in the car.
I glance over at my wife’s stony face. “You tired?”
She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at me.
“Harriet.” There’s a bite in my tone. A hint of confusion. A dash of desperation. What did I do wrong now?
I can tell that she’s fuming, but I’ve never had to pry a word from her. Whenever my wife is upset, she lets it all free. In fact, I’d choke on her insults. Drown in her bitterness. Suffocate on the nagging.
But right now?
Radio silence.
When we get home, she stomps up the stairs.
I’m about to follow her when Ashley calls.
“Babe,” she sighs, “are you coming over or not?”
“I don’t know…”
“Seeing you with your wife really messed me up.” Her voice tightens with annoyance. “I don’t know if we should keep doing this.”
Panic makes my heart buck. “Baby, don’t say that. You know how problematic my marriage is.”
“It didn’t look like that tonight. You were fawning over her.”
I glance over my shoulder. Lower my voice. “I only did that to keep up appearances. You know you’re the only one who understands me.”
“Prove it. I want you to stay with me tonight.”
I rub my forehead. “I’ll see.”
She hangs up on me.
Great.
So I’ve managed to piss off two women tonight.
With a sigh, I trudge up the stairs and knock on the master bedroom door. “Harriet? Babe?” I ease the door open and spot Harriet sitting at the edge of the bed, staring into the distance. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she growls.
Progress.
At least she’s acknowledging me.
“Patrick and some of the other guys wanted to meet up for drinks.”
“Go ahead,” she mumbles.
I skitter back. “Really?”
“Yeah.” The smile on her lips is faint in the moonlight. “You put in the hard work and signed Fuentes on your own. You deserve to enjoy the rewards of your success.”
I try hard to hide my shock, but I’m certain I fail. “You need anything before I go?”
She shakes her head.
I sprint out of the house and drive straight to Ashley. It takes an hour to assure her and even longer to console her for the pain of seeing me with Harriet. But, at the end of the night, we fall into each other’s arms and forget all about the world.
The next morning, I head back home, feeling energized and high on life. My business is thriving. My women are both wonderful. And my life is totally drama-free. I can’t wait to dive right into Fuentes’s schedule and catapult my agency to even higher heights.
The moment I step through the door, I feel the shift in the air.
My steps falter.
My eyebrows pull together.
The past two weeks, Harriet has been making breakfast for me. She’ll stand in the kitchen with her bonnet on, cotton shorts and old T-shirts. She’ll serve me with a nod, a faint smile, and an effort to discuss our day.
But there’s no movement in the kitchen. No smell of bacon and eggs curling through the air.
Is she home?
I’m sure I saw her vehicle outside though.
I head up the stairs. Take them two at a time.
My fingers pause before I reach for the door knob.
Something’s different.
I can feel it.
Unease ties a knot in my stomach and pulls it tight.
I push the door open.
Step in.
Adjust to the dim light.
The bed is neatly spread. Carpet. Rug. Dresser.
My eyes spin back to the vanity. Note the absence of Harriet’s lotions, hair care products and makeup.
My movements turn frantic.
I rush to the closet. Step inside.
Harriet’s clothes are gone.
Panicking now, I sprint to the dressers. The bathroom. The office.
Every trace of my wife has been wiped clean.
Shrinking back, I face the devastating reality.
My wife is gone.
